{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_13725/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_13725","id":"gutenberg_13725","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13725","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Epic poetry, Greek -- Adaptations","Odysseus, King of Ithaca (Mythological character) -- Fiction","Tales -- Greece"],"text":"STORIES FROM THE ODYSSEY\n\nRetold by\n\nH. L. HAVELL B.A.\n\nLate Reader in English in the University of Halle\nFormerly Scholar of University College Oxford\n\nAuthor of _Stories from Herodotus_, _Stories from Greek Tragedy_,\n_Stories from the \u00c6neid_, _Stories from the Iliad_, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Reading from Homer]\n\n\n\n            \"O well for him whose will is strong!\n            He suffers, but he will not suffer long;\n            He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong:\n            For him nor moves the loud world's random mock\n            Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound\n            Who seems a promontory of rock,\n            That compass'd round with turbulent sound\n            In middle ocean meets the surging shock,\n            Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crown'd.\"\n                                            TENNYSON\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nTELEMACHUS, PENELOPE, AND THE SUITORS\n\nTHE ASSEMBLY; THE VOYAGE OF TELEMACHUS\n\nTHE VISIT TO NESTOR AT PYLOS\n\nTELEMACHUS AT SPARTA\n\nODYSSEUS AND CALYPSO\n\nODYSSEUS AMONG THE PH\u00c6ACIANS\n\nTHE WANDERINGS OF ODYSSEUS\n\nTHE VISIT TO HADES\n\nTHE SIRENS; SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS; THRINACIA\n\nODYSSEUS LANDS IN ITHACA\n\nODYSSEUS AND EUM\u00c6US\n\nTHE RETURN OF TELEMACHUS\n\nTHE MEETING OF TELEMACHUS AND ODYSSEUS\n\nTHE HOME-COMING OF ODYSSEUS\n\nTHE BEGGAR IRUS\n\nPENELOPE AND THE WOOERS\n\nODYSSEUS AND PENELOPE\n\nTHE END DRAWS NEAR; SIGNS AND WONDERS\n\nTHE BOW OF ODYSSEUS\n\nTHE SLAYING OF THE WOOERS\n\nODYSSEUS AND PENELOPE\n\nCONCLUSION\n\nPRONOUNCING LIST OF NAMES\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nREADING FROM HOMER (L. Alma Tadema)\n\nPENELOPE (The Vatican, Rome)\n\nTELEMACHUS DEPARTING FROM NESTOR (Henry Howard)\n\nODYSSEUS AND NAUSICA\u00c4 (Charles Gleyre)\n\nODYSSEUS AND POLYPHEMUS (J. M. W. Turner)\n\nCIRCE (Sir E. Burne-Jones)\n\nTHE RETURN OF ODYSSEUS (L. F. Sch\u00fctzenberger)\n\nODYSSEUS AND EURYCLEIA (Christian G. Heyne)\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe impersonal character of the Homeric poems has left us entirely in\nthe dark as to the birthplace, the history, and the date, of their\nauthor. So complete is the darkness which surrounds the name of Homer\nthat his very existence has been disputed, and his works have been\ndeclared to be an ingenious compilation, drawn from the productions of\na multitude of singers. It is not my intention here to enter into the\nendless and barren controversy which has raged round this question. It\nwill be more to the purpose to try and form some general idea of the\ncharacteristics of the Greek Epic; and to do this it is necessary to\ngive a brief review of the political and social conditions in which it\nwas produced.\n\nI\n\nThe world as known to Homer is a mere fragment of territory, including\na good part of the mainland of Greece, with the islands and coast\ndistricts of the \u00c6g\u00e6an. Outside of these limits his knowledge of\ngeography is narrow indeed. He has heard of Sicily, which he speaks of\nunder the name of Thrinacia; and he speaks once of Libya, or the north\ncoast of Africa, as a district famous for its breed of sheep. There is\none vague reference to the vast Scythian or Tartar race (called by\nHomer Thracians), who live on the milk of mares; and he mentions a\ncopper-coloured people, the \"Red-faces,\" who dwell far remote in the\neast and west. The Nile is mentioned, under the name of \u00c6gyptus; and\nthe Egyptians are celebrated by the poet as a people skilled in\nmedicine, a statement which is repeated by Herodotus. The Phoenicians\nappear several times in the _Odyssey_, and we hear once or twice of\nthe Sidonians, as skilled workers in metal. As soon as we pass these\nboundaries, we enter at once into the region of fairyland.\n\nII\n\nIn speaking of the religion of the Homeric Greeks we have to draw a\ndistinction between the _Iliad_ and the _Odyssey_. In the _Iliad_ the\ngods play a much livelier and more human part than in the latter poem,\nand it is highly remarkable that the only comic scenes in the first\nand greatest of epics are those in which the gods are the chief\nactors--as when the lame Heph\u00e6stus takes upon him the office of\ncupbearer at the Olympian banquet, or when Artemis gets her ears boxed\nby the angry Hera. It would almost seem as if there were a vein of\ndeliberate satire running through these descriptions, so daring is the\ntreatment of the divine personages.\n\nIn the _Odyssey_, on the other hand, religion has become more\nspiritual. Olympus is no longer the mountain of that name, but a vague\nterm, like our \"heaven,\" denoting a place remote from all earthly\ncares and passions, a far-off abode in the stainless ether, where the\ngods dwell in everlasting peace, and from which they occasionally\ndescend, to give an eye to the righteous and unrighteous deeds of men.\n\nIn his conception of the state of the soul after death Homer is very\ninteresting. His _Hades_, or place of departed spirits, is a dim,\nshadowy region beyond the setting of the sun, where, after life's\ntrials are over, the souls of men keep up a faint and feeble being. It\nis highly significant that the word which in Homer means \"self\" has\nalso the meaning of \"body\"--showing how intimately the sense of\npersonal identity was associated with the condition of bodily\nexistence. The disembodied spirit is compared to a shadow, a dream, or\na waft of smoke. \"Alas!\" cries Achilles, after a visit from the ghost\nof Patroclus, \"I perceive that even in the halls of Hades there is a\nspirit and a phantom, but understanding none at all\"; for the mental\ncondition of these cold, uncomfortable ghosts is as feeble as their\nbodily form is shadowy and unsubstantial. They hover about with a\nfitful motion, uttering thin, gibbering cries, like the voice of a\nbat, and before they can obtain strength to converse with a visitor\nfrom the other world, they have to be fortified by a draught of fresh\nblood. The subject is summed up by Achilles, when Odysseus felicitates\nhim on the honour which he enjoys, even in Hades: \"Tell me not of\ncomfort in death,\" he says: \"I had rather be the thrall of the poorest\nwight that ever tilled a thankless soil for bread, than rule as king\nover all the shades of the departed.\"\n\nIII\n\nHomeric society is essentially aristocratic. At its head stands the\nking, who may be a great potentate, like Agamemnon, ruling over a wide\nextent of territory, or a petty prince, like Odysseus, who exercises a\nsort of patriarchal authority within the limits of a small island. The\nperson of the king is sacred, and his office is hereditary. He bears\nthe title of _Diogenes_, \"Jove-born,\" and is under the especial\nprotection of the supreme ruler of Olympus. He is leader in war, chief\njudge, president of the council of elders, and representative of the\nstate at the public sacrifices. The symbol of his office is the\nsceptre, which in some cases is handed down as an heirloom from father\nto son.\n\nNext to the king stand the elders, a title which has no reference to\nage, but merely denotes those of noble birth and breeding. The elders\nform a senate, or deliberative body, before which all questions of\npublic importance are laid by the king. Their decisions are afterwards\ncommunicated to the general assembly of the people, who signify their\napproval or dissent by tumultuous cries, but have no power of altering\nor reversing the measures proposed by the nobles. Thus we have already\nthe three main elements of political life: king, lords, and\ncommons--though the position of the last is at present almost entirely\npassive.\n\nIV\n\nThe morality of the Homeric age is such as we may expect to find among\na people which has only partially emerged from barbarism. Crimes of\nviolence are very common, and a familiar figure in the society of this\nperiod is that of the fugitive, who \"has slain a man,\" and is flying\nfrom the vengeance of his family. Patroclus, when a mere boy, kills\nhis youthful playmate in a quarrel over a game of knucklebones--an\nincident which may be seen illustrated in one of the statues in the\nBritish Museum. One of the typical scenes of Hellenic life depicted on\nthe shield of Achilles is a trial for homicide; and such cases were of\nso frequent occurrence that they afford materials for a simile in the\nlast book of the _Iliad_.\n\nWhere life is held so cheap, opinion is not likely to be very strict\nin matters of property. And we find accordingly a general acquiescence\nin \"the good old rule, the ancient plan, that they may take who have\nthe power, and they may keep who can.\" Cattle-lifting is as common as\nit formerly was on the Scottish border. The bold buccaneer is a\ncharacter as familiar as in the good old days when Drake and Raleigh\nsinged the Spanish king's beard, with this important difference, that\nthe buccaneer of ancient Greece plundered Greek and barbarian with\nfine impartiality. A common question addressed to persons newly\narrived from the sea is, \"Are you a merchant, a traveller, or a\npirate?\" And this curious query implies no reproach, and calls for no\nresentment. Still more startling are the terms in which Autolycus, the\nmaternal grandfather of Odysseus, is spoken of. This worthy, we are\ninformed, \"surpassed all mankind in thieving and lying\"; and the\ninformation is given in a manner which shows that the poet intended it\nas a grave compliment. In another passage the same hero is celebrated\nas an accomplished burglar. So low was the standard of Homeric ethics\nin this respect; and even in the historical age of Greece, want of\nhonesty and want of truthfulness were too often conspicuous failings\nin some of her most famous men.\n\nEven more shocking to the moral sense is the wild ferocity which\nsometimes breaks out in the language and conduct of both men and\nwomen. The horrible practice of mutilating the dead after a battle is\nviewed with indifference, and even with complacency, by the bravest\nwarriors. Even Patroclus, the most amiable of the heroes in the\n_Iliad_, proposes to inflict this dastardly outrage on the body of the\nfallen Sarpedon. Achilles drags the body of Hector behind his chariot\nfrom the battlefield, and keeps it in his tent for many days, that he\nmay repeat this hideous form of vengeance in honour of his slaughtered\nfriend. When the dying Hector begs him to restore his body to the\nTrojans for burial he replies with savage taunts, and wishes that he\ncould find it in his heart to carve the flesh of Hector and eat it\nraw! And Hecuba, the venerable Queen of Troy, expresses herself in\nsimilar terms when Priam is preparing to set forth on his mission to\nthe tent of Achilles.\n\nTurning now to the more attractive side of the picture, we shall find\nmuch to admire in the character of Homer's heroes. In the first place\nwe have to note their intense vitality and keen sense of pleasure,\nnatural to a young and vigorous people. The outlook on life is\ngenerally bright and cheerful, and there is hardly any trace of that\ncorroding pessimism which meets us in later literature. Cases of\nsuicide, so common in the tragedians, are almost unknown.\n\nIn one respect, and that too a point of the very highest importance,\nthe Greeks of this age were far in advance of those who came after\nthem, and not behind the most polished nations of modern Europe. We\nrefer to the beauty, the tenderness, and the purity of their domestic\nrelations. The whole story of the _Odyssey_ is founded on the faithful\nwedded love of Odysseus and Penelope, and the contrasted example of\nAgamemnon and his demon wife is repeatedly held up to scorn and\nabhorrence. The world's poetry affords no nobler scene than the\nparting of Hector and Andromache in the _Iliad_, nor has the ideal of\nperfect marriage ever found grander expression than in the words\naddressed by Odysseus to Nausica\u00e4: \"There is nothing mightier and\nnobler than when man and wife are of one mind and heart in a house, a\ngrief to their foes, and to their friends a great joy, but their own\nhearts know it best.\"[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Butcher and Lang's translation.]\n\nHospitality in a primitive state of society, where inns are unknown,\nis not so much a virtue as a necessity. Even in these early times the\nGreeks, within the limits of their little world, were great\ntravellers, and their swift chariots, and galleys propelled by sail\nand oar, enabled them to make considerable journeys with speed and\nsafety. Arrived at their destination for the night they were sure of a\nwarm welcome at the first house at which they presented themselves;\nand he who played the host on one occasion expected and found a like\nreturn when, perhaps years afterwards, he was brought by business or\npleasure to the home of his former guest. Nor were these privileges\nconfined to the wealthy and noble, who were able, when the time came,\nto make payment in kind, but the poorest and most helpless outcast,\nthe beggar, the fugitive, and the exile, found countenance and\nprotection, when he made his plea in the name of Zeus, the god of\nhospitality.\n\nV\n\nThis frankness and simplicity of manners runs through the whole life\nof the Homeric Greek, and is reflected in every page of the two great\nepics which are the lasting monuments of that bright and happy age. As\ncivilisation advances, and life becomes more complicated and\nartificial, human activity tends more and more to split up into an\ninfinite number of minute occupations, and the whole time and energy\nof each individual are not more than sufficient to make him master in\nsome little corner of art, science, or industry. A vast system of\ncommerce brings the products of the whole world to our doors; and it\nis almost appalling to think of the millions of toiling hands and busy\nbrains which must pass all their days in unceasing toil, in order that\nthe humblest citizen may find his daily wants supplied. To give only\none example: how vast and tremendous is the machinery which must be\nset at work before a single letter or post-card can reach its\ndestination! This multiplication of needs, and endless subdivision of\nlabour, too often results in stunting and crippling the development of\nthe individual, so that it becomes harder, as time advances, to find a\ncomplete man, with all his faculties matured by equable and harmonious\ngrowth.\n\nVery different were the conditions of life in the Homeric age. Then\nthe wealthy man's house was a little world in itself, capable of\nsupplying all the simple wants of its inhabitants. The women spun wool\nand flax, the produce of the estate, and wove them into cloth and\nlinen, to be dyed and wrought into garments by the same skilful hands.\nOn the sunny slopes of the hills within sight of the doors the grapes\nwere ripening against the happy time of vintage, when merry troops of\nchildren would bring them home with dance and song to be trodden in\nthe winepress. Nearer at hand was the well-kept orchard, bowing under\nits burden of apples, pears, and figs; and groves of grey olive-trees\npromised abundance of oil. In the valleys waved rich harvests of wheat\nand barley, which were reaped, threshed, ground, and made into bread,\nby the master's thralls. Herds of oxen, and flocks of sheep and goats,\nroved on the broad upland pastures, and in the forest multitudes of\nswine were fattening on the beech-mast and acorns.\n\nAnd the owner of all these blessings was no luxurious drone, living in\nidleness on the labour of other men's hands. He was, in the fullest\nsense of the word, the father of his household. His was the vigilant\neye which watched and directed every member in the little army of\nworkers, and his the generous hand which dealt out bountiful reward\nfor faithful service. If need were he could take his share in the\nhardest field labour, and plough a straight furrow, or mow a heavy\ncrop of grass from dawn till sunset without breaking his fast. Nothing\nwas too great or too little to engage his attention, as the necessity\narose. He was a warrior, whose single prowess might go far in deciding\nthe issue of a hard-fought battle--an orator, discoursing with weighty\neloquence on grave questions of state--a judge, whose decisions helped\nto build up the as yet unwritten code of law. Descending from these\nhigh altitudes, he could take up his bow and spear, and go forth to\nhunt the boar and the stag, or wield the woodman's axe, or the\ncarpenter's saw and chisel. He could kill, dress, and serve his own\ndinner; and when the strenuous day was over, he could tune the harp,\ndiscourse sweet music, and sing of the deeds of heroes and gods.\n\nSuch was the versatility, and such the many-sided energy, of the Greek\nas he appears in the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_. And as these two poems\ncontain the elements of all subsequent thought and progress in the\nGreek nation, so in the typical character of Odysseus are concentrated\nall the qualities which distinguish the individual Greek--his\ninsatiable curiosity, which left no field of thought unexplored--his\nspirit of daring enterprise, which carried the banner of civilisation\nto the borders of India and the Straits of Gibraltar--and his subtlety\nand craft, which in a later age made him a byword to the grave\nmoralists of Rome.\n\nIn the _Iliad_ Odysseus is constantly exhibited as a contrast to the\nyouthful Achilles. Wherever prudence, experience, and policy, are\nrequired, Odysseus comes to the front. In Achilles, with his furious\npassions and ill-regulated impulses, there is always something of the\nbarbarian; while Odysseus in all his actions obeys the voice of\nreason. It will readily be seen that such a character, essentially\nintellectual, always moving within due measure, never breaking out\ninto eccentricity or excess, would appeal less to the popular\nimagination than the fiery nature of Pelides, \"strenuous, passionate,\nimplacable, and fierce.\" And on this ground we may partly explain the\nunamiable light in which Odysseus appears in later Greek literature.\nAlready in Pindar we find him singled out for disapproval. In\nSophocles he has sunk still lower; and in Euripides his degradation is\ncompleted.\n\nVI\n\nSpace does not allow us to give a detailed criticism of the _Odyssey_\nas a poem, and determine its relation to the _Iliad_. We must content\nourselves with quoting the words of the most eloquent of ancient\ncritics, which sum up the subject with admirable brevity and insight:\n\"Homer in his _Odyssey_ may be compared to the setting sun: he is\nstill as great as ever, but he has lost his fervent heat. The strain\nis now pitched in a lower key than in the 'Tale of Troy divine': we\nbegin to miss that high and equable sublimity which never flags or\nsinks, that continuous current of moving incidents, those rapid\ntransitions, that force of eloquence, that opulence of imagery which\nis ever true to nature. Like the sea when it retires upon itself and\nleaves its shores waste and bare, henceforth the tide of sublimity\nbegins to ebb, and draws us away into the dim region of myth and\nlegend.\"[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Longinus: \"On the Sublime.\" Translated by H.L. Havell,\nB.A. p. 20. Macmillan & Co.]\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES FROM THE ODYSSEY\n\n\n\n\nTelemachus, Penelope, and the Suitors\n\n\nI\n\nIn a high, level spot, commanding a view of the sea, stands the house\nof Odysseus, the mightiest prince in Ithaca. It is a spacious\nbuilding, two storeys high, constructed entirely of wood, and\nsurrounded on all sides by a strong wooden fence. Within the\nenclosure, and in front of the house, is a wide courtyard, containing\nthe stables, and other offices of the household.\n\nA proud maiden was Penelope, when Odysseus wedded her in her youthful\nbloom, and made her the mistress of his fair dwelling and his rich\ndomain. One happy year they lived together, and a son was born to\nthem, whom they named Telemachus. Then war arose between Greece and\nAsia, and Odysseus was summoned to join the train of chieftains who\nfollowed Agamemnon to win back Helen, his brother's wife. Ten years\nthe war lasted; then Troy was taken, and those who had survived the\nstruggle returned to their homes. Among these was Odysseus, who set\nsail with joyful heart, hoping, before many days were passed, to take\nup anew the thread of domestic happiness which had been so rudely\nbroken. But since that hour he has vanished from sight, and for ten\nlong years from the fall of Troy the house has been mourning its\nabsent lord.\n\nDuring the last three years a new trouble has been present, to fill\nthe cup of Penelope's sorrow to the brim. A host of suitors, drawn\nfrom the most powerful families in Ithaca and the neighbouring\nislands, have beset the house of Odysseus, desiring to wed his wife\nand possess her wealth. All her friends urge her to make choice of a\nhusband from that clamorous band; for no one now believes that there\nis any hope left of Odysseus' return. Only Penelope still clings to\nthe belief that he is yet living, and will one day come home. So for\nthree years she has put them off by a cunning trick. She began to\nweave a shroud for her father-in-law, Laertes, promising that, as soon\nas the garment was finished, she would wed one of the suitors. Then\nall day long she wove that choice web; and every night she undid the\nwork of the day, unravelling the threads which she had woven. So for\nthree years she beguiled the suitors, but at last she was betrayed by\nher handmaids, and the fraud was discovered. The princes upbraided her\nloudly for her deceit, and became more importunate than ever. The\nsubstance of Odysseus was wasting away; for day after day the wooers\ncame thronging to the house, a hundred strong, and feasted at the\nexpense of its absent master, and drank up his wine.\n\nNo hope seems left to the heartbroken, faithful wife. Even her son has\ngrown impatient at the waste of his goods, and urges her to make the\nhard choice, and the hateful hour is at hand which will part her for\never from the scene of her brief wedded joy.\n\n[Illustration: Penelope]\n\nII\n\nIt was the hour of noon, and the sun was beating hot on the rocky\nhills of Ithaca, when a solitary wayfarer was seen approaching the\nouter gateway which led into the courtyard of Odysseus' house. He was\na man of middle age, dressed like a chieftain, and carrying a long\nspear in his hand. Passing through the covered gateway he halted\nabruptly, and gazed in astonishment at the strange sight which met his\neyes. All was noise and bustle in the courtyard, where a busy troop of\nservants were preparing the materials for a great feast. Some were\ncarrying smoking joints of roast meat, others were filling huge bowls\nwith wine and water, and others were washing the tables and setting\nthem out to dry. In the portico before the house sat a great company\nof young nobles, comely of aspect, and daintily attired, taking their\nease on couches of raw ox-hide, and playing at draughts to while away\nthe time until the banquet should be ready. Loud was their talk, and\nboisterous their laughter, as of men who have no respect for\nthemselves or for others. \"Surely this was the house of Odysseus,\"\nmurmured the stranger to himself, \"but now it seems like a den of\nthieves. But who is that tall and goodly lad, who sits apart, with\ngloomy brow, and seems ill-pleased with the doings of that riotous\ncrew? Surely I should know that face, the very face of my old friend\nas I knew him long years ago.\"\n\nAs he spoke, the youth who had attracted his notice glanced in his\ndirection, and seeing a stranger standing unheeded at the entrance, he\nrose from his seat and came with hasty step and heightened colour\ntowards him. \"Forgive me, friend,\" he said, with hand outstretched in\nwelcome, \"that I marked thee not before. My thoughts were far away.\nBut come into the house, and sit down to meat, and when thou hast\neaten we will inquire the reason of thy coming.\"\n\nSo saying, and taking the stranger's spear, he led him into the great\nhall of the house, and sat down with him in a corner, remote from the\nnoise of the revel. And a handmaid bare water in a golden ewer, and\npoured it over their hands into a basin of silver; and when they had\nwashed, a table was set before them, heaped with delicate fare. Then\nhost and guest took their meal together, and comforted their hearts\nwith wine.\n\nBefore they had finished, the whole company came trooping in from the\ncourtyard, and filled the room with uproar, calling aloud for food and\ndrink. Not a chair was left empty, and the servants hurried to and\nfro, supplying the wants of these unwelcome visitors. Vast quantities\nof flesh were consumed, and many a stout jar of wine was drained to\nthe dregs, to supply the wants of that greedy multitude.\n\nWhen at last their hunger was appeased, and every goblet stood empty,\nPhemius, the minstrel, stood up in their midst, and after striking a\nfew chords on his harp, began to sing a famous lay. Then the youth who\nhad been entertaining the stranger drew closer his chair, and thus\naddressed him, speaking low in his ear: \"Thou seest what fair company\nwe keep, how wanton they are, and how gay. Yet there was once a man\nwho would have driven them, like beaten hounds, from this hall, even\nhe whose substance they are devouring. But his bones lie whitening at\nthe bottom of the sea, and we who are left must tamely suffer this\nwrong. But now thou hast eaten, and I may question thee without\nreproach. Say, therefore, who art thou, and where is thy home? Comest\nthou for the first time to Ithaca, or art thou an old friend of this\nhouse, bound to us by ties of ancient hospitality?\"\n\n\"My name is Mentes,\" answered the stranger, \"and I am a prince of the\nTaphians, a bold race of sailors. I am a friend of this house, well\nknown to its master, Odysseus, and his father, Laertes. Be of good\ncheer, for he whom thou mournest is not dead, nor shall his coming be\nmuch longer delayed. But tell me now of a truth, art not thou the son\nof that man? I knew him well, and thou hast the very face and eyes of\nOdysseus.\"\n\n\"My mother calls me his son,\" replied the youth, who was indeed\nTelemachus himself, \"and I am bound to believe her. Would that it were\notherwise! I have little cause to bless my birth.\"\n\n\"Yet shalt thou surely be blest,\" said Mentes; \"thou art not unmarked\nof the eye of Heaven. But answer me once more, what means this lawless\nriot in the house? And what cause has brought all these men hither?\"\n\n\"This also thou shalt know,\" replied Telemachus. \"These are the\nprinces who have come to woo my mother; and while she keeps them\nwaiting for her answer they eat up my father's goods. Ere long,\nmethinks, they will make an end of me also.\"\n\n\"Fit wooers indeed for the wife of such a man!\" said Mentes with a\nbitter smile. \"Would that he were standing among them now as I saw him\nonce in my father's house, armed with helmet and shield and spear! He\nwould soon wed them to another bride. But whether it be God's will\nthat he return or not, 'tis for thee to devise means to drive these\nmen from thy house. Take heed, therefore, to my words, and do as I bid\nthee. To-morrow thou shalt summon the suitors to the place of\nassembly, and charge them that they depart to their homes. And do thou\nthyself fit out a ship, with twenty rowers, and get thee to Pylos,\nwhere the aged Nestor dwells, and inquire of him concerning thy\nfather. From Pylos proceed to Sparta, the kingdom of Menelaus; he was\nthe last of the Greeks to reach home, after the fall of Troy; and\nperchance thou mayest learn something from him. And if thou hearest\nsure tidings of thy father's death, then get thee home, and raise a\ntomb to his memory, and keep his funeral feast. Then let thy mother\nwed whom she will; and if these men still beset thee, thou must devise\nmeans to slay them, either by guile or openly. Thou art now a man, and\nmust play a man's part. Hast thou not heard of the fame which Orestes\nwon, when he slew the murderer of his sire? Be thou valiant, even as\nhe; tall thou art, and fair, and shouldst be a stout man of thy hands.\nBut 'tis time for me to be going; my ship awaits me in the harbour,\nand my comrades will be tired of waiting for me.\"\n\n\"Stay yet awhile,\" answered Telemachus, \"until thou hast refreshed\nthyself with the bath; and I will give thee a costly gift to bear with\nthee as a memorial of thy visit.\" But even as he spoke Mentes rose\nfrom his seat and, gliding like a shadow through the sunlit doorway,\ndisappeared. Telemachus followed, in wonder and displeasure; but no\ntrace of the strange visitor was to be seen. Looking upward he saw a\ngreat sea-eagle winging his way towards the shore; and a voice seemed\nto whisper in his ear: \"No mortal was thy guest, but the great goddess\nAthene, daughter of Zeus, and ever thy father's true comrade and\nfaithful ally.\"\n\nIII\n\nWith a strange elation of spirits Telemachus returned to the hall, and\nsat down among the suitors. Hitherto he had shown a certain weakness\nand indecision of character, natural in a young lad, who had grown up\nwithout the strong guiding hand of a father, and who, since the first\ndawn of his manhood, had been surrounded by a host of subtle foes. But\nthe words of Athene have gone home, and he resolves that from this\nhour he will take his proper place in the house as his mother's\nguardian and the heir of a great prince.\n\nThere was an unwonted stillness among that lawless troop, and they sat\nsilent and attentive in the great, dimly lighted chamber. For the\nminstrel was singing a sweet and solemn strain, which told of the\nhome-coming of the Greeks from Troy, and of all the disasters which\nbefell them on the way. Suddenly the singer paused in the midst of his\nlay, for his fine ear had caught the sound of a sobbing sigh. Looking\nround, he saw a tall and stately lady standing in the doorway which\nled to the women's apartments at the back of the house. She was\nclosely veiled, but he instantly recognised the form of Penelope, his\nbeloved mistress.\n\n\"Phemius,\" said Penelope, in a tone of gentle reproach, \"hast thou no\nother lay to sing, but must needs recite this tale of woe, which fills\nmy soul with tears, by calling up the image of him for whom I sorrow\nnight and day?\"\n\nPhemius stood abashed, and ventured no reply; but Telemachus answered\nfor him. \"Mother,\" he said, \"blame not the sweet minstrel for his\nsong. The bard is not the author of the woes of which he sings, but\nZeus assigns to each his portion of good and ill; and thou must submit\nto his ordinance, like many another lady who has lost her lord. Thou\nhast thy province in the house, and I mine; thine is to govern thy\nhandmaids, and mine to take the lead where the men are gathered\ntogether. And I say that the minstrel has chosen well.\"\n\nThere was a new note of command in the voice of Telemachus as he\nuttered these words. Penelope heard it, and wondered what change had\ncome over her son; but a hundred bold eyes were gazing insolently at\nher, and without another word she turned away, and ascended the steep\nstairs which led to her bower. There she reclined on a couch, and her\ntears flowed freely; for the song of Phemius had reopened the fountain\nof her grief. Presently the sound of sobbing died away, and she drew\nher breath gently in a sweet and placid sleep.\n\nThe sudden appearance of Penelope had excited the suitors, and they\nbegan to brawl noisily among themselves. Presently Telemachus raised\nhis voice, commanding silence for the minstrel. \"And I have something\nelse to say unto you,\" he added. \"To-morrow at dawn I bid you come to\nthe place of assembly, that we may make an end of these wild doings in\nmy house. I will bear it no longer, but will publish your evil deeds\nto the ears of gods and men.\"\n\nAmong the suitors there was a certain Antinous, a tall and stout\nfellow, of commanding presence, who was looked up to by the others as\na sort of leader, being the boldest and most brutal in the band. And\nnow he answered for the rest \"Heaven speed thy boasting, young\nbraggart!\" he cried in rude and jeering tones. \"It will be a happy day\nfor the men of Ithaca when they have thee for their king.\"\n\n\"I claim not the kingdom,\" answered Telemachus firmly, \"but I am\nresolved to be master in my own house.\"\n\nBy the side of Antinous sat Eurymachus, who was next to him in power\nand rank. This was a smooth and subtle villain, not less dangerous\nthan Antinous, but glib and plausible of speech. And he too made\nanswer after his kind: \"Telemachus, thou sayest well, and none can\ndispute thy right. But with thy good leave I would ask thee concerning\nthe stranger. He seemed a goodly man; but why did he start up and\nleave us so suddenly? Did he bring any tidings of thy father?\"\n\n\"There can be no tidings of him,\" answered Telemachus sadly, \"except\nthat we shall never see him again. And as to this stranger, it was\nMentes, a friend of my father's, and prince of the Taphians.\"\n\nNight was now coming on, the suitors departed to their homes, and\nTelemachus, who meditated an early start next day, retired early to\nhis chamber. The room where he slept stood in the courtyard, apart\nfrom the house, and was reached by a stairway. He was attended by an\naged dame, Eurycleia, who had nursed him in his infancy. And all night\nlong he lay sleepless, pondering on the perils and the adventures\nwhich awaited him.\n\n\n\n\nThe Assembly; The Voyage of Telemachus\n\n\nI\n\nAt the first peep of dawn Telemachus was afoot, and summoning the\nheralds he ordered them to make proclamation of an assembly to be held\nin a public place in the town of Ithaca. Then he went down to the\nplace of assembly, with two favourite hounds following close at his\nheels; and when he arrived he found the princes and elders of the\npeople already gathered together. All eyes were turned to the gallant\nlad, as he sat down on his father's seat among the noblest of the sons\nof Ithaca. Never had he worn so princely an air, or seemed so worthy\nof his mighty sire.\n\nThen the old chieftain \u00c6gyptus began the debate; he was bent double\nwith age, and one of his sons, Antiphus, had followed Odysseus to\nTroy, while another, Eurynomus, was among the suitors of Penelope. It\nwas of Antiphus that he thought, as he stood up and made harangue\namong the elders:\n\n\"Who has summoned us hither, and what is his need? Never have we met\ntogether in council since the day when Odysseus set sail from Ithaca.\nHath any tidings come of the return of those who followed him to Troy,\nor is it some other business of public moment which has called us\nhither? But whoever sent out this summons, I doubt not he is a worthy\nman, and may Zeus accomplish his purpose, whatever it be.\"\n\nSuch chance sayings were regarded as a sign of Heaven's will, and\nTelemachus rejoiced in spirit at the old man's blessing. And forthwith\nhe stood up in the midst, and, taking the sceptre from the herald's\nhand, rushed at once into the subject of which his mind was full.\n\n\"Behold me here, old man,\" he said, addressing \u00c6gyptus. \"It is I who\nhave called you together, and surely not without a cause. Is it not\nenough that I have lost my brave father, whose gentleness and\nloving-kindness ye all knew, when he was your king? But must I sit\nstill, day after day, and see the fattest of my flocks and herds\nslaughtered, and the red wine poured out wastefully, by these men who\nhave come to woo my mother? Take shame to yourselves, and restrain\nthem; fear the reproach of men, and the wrath of Heaven, and suffer me\nnot thus to be evilly entreated, unless ye harbour revengeful thoughts\nagainst my father, for some wrong which he has done you.\"\n\nHe had spoken thus far, when tears choked his voice, and flinging the\nsceptre on the ground he returned to his seat. There was a general\nfeeling of compassion among his hearers, and not one of the suitors\nventured to answer him, save only Antinous, who began in his wonted\nstyle of brutal insolence, upbraiding Telemachus in violent terms, and\nthrowing all the blame on Penelope, who, he said, had beguiled them\nfor three years by holding out promises which she never meant to\nfulfil. Then he told the story of Penelope's web, and concluded his\nspeech with these words:\n\n\"As long as thy mother continues in this mind, so long will we stay\nhere and consume thy living. If thou wouldst be quit of us, send her\nto her father's house and bid her marry the man of her choice.\"\n\nTelemachus replied: \"How can I drive away the mother who bare me and\nnourished me? And where shall I find means to pay back her dower? But\nmost of all I dread my mother's curse. No, never shall that word be\nspoken by me. Therefore, if ye know aught of fair and honest dealing,\ndepart from my house, and live on your own goods; but if it seems good\nto you to eat up another man's living, then will I appeal to the\njustice of heaven, and pray for vengeance on your heads.\"\n\n\"Behold, his prayer is answered,\" cried Halitherses, a venerable\nelder, with snow-white beard, who was skilled in augury; and looking\nup they saw two eagles winging their way at full speed towards the\nplace of assembly. Now the two great birds hovered over the meeting;\nand just at this moment they wheeled round and attacked each other\nfiercely with beak and claw. After fighting for some time they shot\naway to the right and were soon lost to view. Then Halitherses spake\nagain, interpreting the omen: \"Hearken, men of Ithaca, to my words,\nand to you, the suitors of Penelope, especially do I speak. Woe is\ncoming upon you; I see it rising and swelling as a wave. Not long\nshall Odysseus be absent, but even now he is near at hand hatching\nmischief for those who sit here. And many another shall suffer,\nbesides these who have done the wrong. Therefore, I say, let us stop\ntheir evil deeds, or let them cease themselves. The hour is near at\nhand which I foretold, when Odysseus embarked for Troy: I said that\nafter many sufferings, having lost all his comrades, unknown to all in\nthe twentieth year he should come home. And now all these things are\ncoming to pass.\"\n\nThen up rose Eurymachus, in an angry and scornful mood. \"Old man,\"\nsaid he, \"go home and prophesy to thine own children, lest some harm\nbefall thee here. Thinkest thou that every fowl of the air is a\nmessenger from heaven? Odysseus has perished, and would that thou\nhadst perished with him! Art thou not ashamed to take sides with this\nmalapert boy, feeding his passion and folly with thy crazy prophecies?\nDoubtless thou lookest to him for favour and reward, but thou wilt\nfind that his friendship will cost thee dear. Telemachus has heard our\nanswer to his complaint; let him keep his eloquence for his froward\nmother, and bring her to a better mind, for neither his speeches nor\nthy prophecies will turn us from our purpose.\"\n\nThe principal object of the meeting was now attained: the villainy of\nthe suitors had been publicly exposed, and they were left without\nexcuse or hope of mercy when the day of reckoning should arrive.\nAccordingly Telemachus, dismissing the subject of his wrongs, now\nspoke of his intended voyage to Pylos and Sparta, and begged for the\nloan of a ship to carry him and his comrades to the mainland.\n\nNo response was made to his request; but one man still attempted to\nrouse public opinion against the suitors. This was Mentor, an old\nfriend of Odysseus, who had been left in charge of his household on\nhis departure from Ithaca. \"Is there not one among you,\" he cried\nindignantly, \"who will speak a word for Telemachus, or testify against\nthe wickedness of these men? No more let kings be gentle and merciful\ntowards their people, as was Odysseus when he ruled over you, loving\nand tender-hearted as a father. Let righteousness give place to\noppression, if these are its rewards. There you sit, like cowed and\nbeaten men, and suffer a handful of worthless men to lord it over you\nall.\"\n\nAfter this last appeal, which was as fruitless as the others, the\nmeeting broke up, and the suitors returned to their revels in the\nhouse of Odysseus.\n\nII\n\nFull of anxious thought, Telemachus went down to the shore, wondering\nhow he should find means to accomplish his voyage. Stooping down, he\nbathed his hands in the sea, and after this act of purification he\nlifted up his hands and prayed to Athene: \"O thou who camest yesterday\nto our house, and badest me go on this quest, give ear and help me in\nthis strait.\"\n\nHe had hardly finished his prayer when he heard a footstep, and\nlooking round saw Mentor, who had come to his aid at the meeting,\napproaching from the town. \"Be not cast down,\" said Mentor, \"remember\nwhose son thou art, and all shall be well with thee. As to this\nvoyage, that shall be my care. I will find thee a ship, and will go\nwith thee to Pylos. Meanwhile go thou home and make ready all things\nfor victualling the ship, corn and wine and barley-meal, and bestow\nthem heedfully in vessels and in bags of leather. Ships there are in\nplenty, new and old, in seagirt Ithaca; I will choose the best of them\nall, and man her with a crew who will serve thee freely and with all\ngoodwill.\"\n\nAway went Telemachus, much comforted in spirit, though his heart\nfluttered when he thought of the great adventure which lay before him.\nWhen he entered the courtyard of his house he found the suitors\nflaying goats and singeing swine for the midday feast. Antinous hailed\nhis coming with a rude laugh, and running up to him seized his hand\nand said mockingly: \"Well met, Sir Eloquence! Thy face, I see, is full\nof care, as of one who is bent on high designs. But lay thy graver\nburdens aside for awhile, and eat and drink with us. Thou shalt want\nneither ship nor men to carry thee to holy Pylos.\"\n\nTelemachus snatched his hand away, and answered sternly: \"My thoughts\nare not of feasting and merry-making, nor would I eat and drink with\nyou if they were. I am no longer a child, to be flouted and robbed\nwithout a word. I tell you I shall find it in my heart to do you a\nmischief, before many days are passed. But now I am going, as I said,\non this journey. I must go as a passenger, since ye will not lend me a\nship.\"\n\nMany a scornful face was turned upon him, and many a taunt aimed at\nhim, as he uttered these bold words. \"We are all undone!\" cried one in\npretended alarm, \"Telemachus is gone to gather an army in Pylos or in\nSparta, and he will come back with his mighty men and take all our\nlives.\" \"Or perhaps he is going to bring poison from Ephyra,\" said\nanother, \"and he will cast it in the bowl, and we shall be all dead\ncorpses.[1]\" And a third cried: \"Take care of thyself, Telemachus, or\nwe shall have double labour because of thee, in dividing thy goods\namong us.\"\n\n[Footnote 1: 2 Kings xix. 35.]\n\nBut the taunts of fools and knaves have no sting for honest ears.\nWithout another word Telemachus left that gibing mob, and went\nstraight to the strong-room where his father's treasure was stored.\nThere lay heaps of gold and silver, and chests full of fine raiment,\nand great jars of fragrant olive-oil. Along the wall was a long row of\nportly casks, filled with the choicest wine; there they had stood\nuntouched for twenty years, awaiting the master's return. All this\nwealth was given in charge to Eurycleia, the nurse of Telemachus, a\nwise and careful dame, who watched the chamber day and night. Her\nTelemachus now summoned, and said: \"Fill me twelve jars of wine--not\nthe best, which thou art keeping for my father, but the next best to\nthat. And take twenty measures of barley-meal, and store it in sacks\nof leather, and keep all these things together till I send for them.\nKeep close counsel, and above all let not my mother know. I am going\nto Sparta and to sandy Pylos to inquire of my father's return; and I\nshall start in the evening when my mother is gone to rest.\"\n\n\"Who put such a thought into thy heart?\" cried Eurycleia in wailing\ntones. \"Why wilt thou take this dreadful journey, thou, an only child,\nso loved, and so dear? Odysseus is lost for ever, and if thou go we\nshall lose thee too, for the suitors will plot thy ruin while thou art\nfar away.\"\n\n\"Fear nothing for me,\" answered Telemachus, \"Heaven's eye is upon me,\nand the hand of Zeus is spread over me. Swear to me now that thou wilt\nnot tell my mother until twelve days have past.\" Eurycleia swore as he\nbade her, and at once set about making the preparations for his\njourney.\n\nThe suitors were in high spirits at the result of the meeting, and\nthey ate heavily and drank deeply to celebrate their triumph. Hence it\nhappened that they retired to rest earlier than usual, being drowsy\nfrom their intemperate revel; and when Telemachus returned to the\nbanquet-hall he found all the guests departed, and the servants\nremoving the remains of the feast. Soon afterwards Mentor appeared,\nand announced that the ship lay ready at her moorings outside the\nharbour. The stores were carried down to the sea, and stowed under the\nrowers' benches. \"All hands on board!\" cried Mentor, and took his\nplace in the stern, Telemachus sitting by his side. The crew sat ready\nat their oars, the ship was cast loose from the moorings, and a few\nvigorous strokes impelled her into deep water. Then a strong breeze\nsprang up from the west, the big sail was set, and the good ship\nbounded joyfully over the waves, with the white wake roaring behind.\nThe oars were shipped, the sheets made fast, and all the company\npledged each other in brimming cups, drinking to their prosperous\nvoyage.\n\n\n\n\nThe Visit to Nestor at Pylos\n\n\nI\n\nSo all night long the ship clave her way; and at sunrise they reached\nthe flat, sandy coast of Pylos. There they found a great multitude\nassembled, keeping the feast of Poseidon with sacrifices of oxen. The\nsolemn rite was nearly ended when they brought their vessel to land.\n\n\"Courage, now,\" said Mentor to Telemachus, seeing the young lad\nsomewhat abashed by the presence of so large a company. \"Remember whom\nthou seekest, and lay thy modest scruples aside. Thou seest that\nvenerable man, still tall and erect, though he numbers more than a\nhundred years. That is Nestor, son of Neleus, wisest of the Greeks, a\nking and the friend and counsellor of kings. Go straight to him, and\ntell him thy errand.\"\n\nSeeing Telemachus, who was a homebred youth, still hanging back, in\ndread of that august presence, Mentor renewed his friendly\nremonstrances, \"What, still tongue-tied?\" he said, taking him by the\narm, and leading him forward. \"Heaven mend thy wits, poor lad! Knowest\nthou not that thou art a child of great hopes, and a favourite of\nheaven?\"\n\nWhen they came to the place where Nestor was seated with his sons,\nthey found them busy preparing the feast which followed the sacrifice.\nAs soon as those of Nestor's company saw the strangers they came\nforward in a body to greet them, and made them sit down in places of\nhonour, where soft fleeces were heaped up on the level sand. A youth,\nabout the same age as Telemachus, placed a goblet of gold in Mentor's\nhand, and gave him that portion of the flesh which was set apart as an\noffering to the gods. \"Welcome, friend,\" he said, after pledging him\nfrom the cup. \"Put up thy prayer with us to the lord Poseidon, for it\nis to his feast that ye have come. And when thou hast prayed, give the\ncup to thy young companion, who has been bred, methinks, as I have, to\ndeeds of piety.\"\n\nMentor first asked a blessing on their hosts, and then prayed for a\nprosperous issue to their own adventure. After him Telemachus uttered\nhis prayer in similar words, and then they all sat down to meat. When\nthey had finished, Nestor looked earnestly at them, and asked them who\nthey were, and what was the purpose of their journey. \"Are ye\nmerchants,\" he said, \"or bold buccaneers, who roam the seas, a peril\nto others, and ever in peril themselves?\"\n\nTelemachus, cheered by good fare, and encouraged by the kind manner of\nNestor, answered confidently, and explained the nature of his errand.\n\"Concerning all the other Greeks,\" he added, \"we know at least the\nmanner of their death; but even this poor comfort is denied to the\nwife and son of Odysseus. Therefore, if thou hast aught to tell, I\nbeseech thee by thy friendship with my father, let me know all, and\nsoften not the tale, out of kindness or pity to me.\"\n\n\"Ah! my friend,\" answered Nestor. \"What woeful memories thou hast\nawakened by thy words!--perils by land and perils by water, long years\nof siege and battle, sleepless nights and toilsome days. Ill-fated\nland of Troy! the grave of Grecian chivalry! There lies heroic Ajax,\nthere lies Achilles, and Patroclus, sage in counsel, and there lies\nAntilochus, my own dear son, fleet of foot and strong of hand. And art\nthou indeed the son of Odysseus, whom none could match in craft and\nstrategy? But why do I ask? When thou speakest, I seem to hear the\nvery tones of his voice. He was my friend, one with me in mind and\nheart, and during all the time of the siege we took counsel together\nfor the weal of Greece. But when the war was over disasters came thick\nand fast upon the host. And first, division arose between the two sons\nof Atreus; Agamemnon wished to abide in Troy until sacrifice had been\noffered to appease the anger of Athene, but Menelaus advised immediate\ndeparture. The party of Menelaus, of whom I was one, launched their\nships and sailed to Tenedos; there Odysseus, who had set sail with us,\nput back to the mainland of Asia, wishing to do a favour to Agamemnon.\nBut I, and Diomede with me, set forth at once, and, crossing the sea\nfrom Lesbos, came to Euboea; thence, after sacrifice to Poseidon, I\nsteered due south, and parting from Diomede at Argos continued my\nvoyage, and landed safe in Pylos. Thus it happened that I was not\nwitness of the good or evil fortunes of the other Greeks on their\nvoyage home, and know only by rumour how they fared. Of Agamemnon's\nfate thou hast surely heard thyself, how he was murdered on his own\nhearth by the treachery of \u00c6gisthus, and how the murder was avenged by\nOrestes. Happy the father who has such a son! And such, methinks, art\nthou.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" answered Telemachus, when Nestor had finished his long story, \"I\nhave heard of that glorious deed; and would to heaven that by the\nmight of my hands I might so take vengeance on the evil men who have\ncome to woo my mother, and who fill my house with injury and outrage.\"\n\n\"Ah! thou hast reminded me,\" said Nestor. \"I heard of the shameful\nwrong which thou hast suffered. But do not despair! Who knows but that\nOdysseus will yet return, and make them drink the cup which they have\nfilled? It may well come to pass, if Athene continues to thy house the\nfavour which she showed thy father, plain for all eyes to see, in the\nland of Troy.\"\n\n\"Nay, 'tis too much to hope,\" answered Telemachus with a sigh, \"the\nthing is too hard--even a god could hardly bring it to pass.\"\n\n\"Now out on thy faint heart!\" cried Mentor, who hitherto had sat\nsilent. \"Better for him that his homecoming should be long delayed\nthan that he should have died, like Agamemnon, fresh from his victory.\nHeaven will guide him yet to his own door, though now he be at the\nuttermost parts of the earth.\"\n\nTelemachus shook his head as he answered: \"No more of that, I pray\nthee; it can never be.\" Then, addressing Nestor, he said: \"I would\nfain ask thee more concerning the manner of Agamemnon's death. Where\nwas Menelaus when that foul deed was done? And how did \u00c6gisthus\ncontrive to slay a man mightier far than himself?\"\n\n\"Thou askest well,\" replied Nestor. \"Menelaus was far away, or we\nshould have another tale to tell. And had the return of Menelaus not\nbeen delayed, vengeance would have been forestalled by many years.\nYea, the dogs would have eaten the flesh of that vile churl, and not a\ntear would have been shed for him. But this is how it fell out: while\nwe were toiling and warring at Troy, \u00c6gisthus sat close to the ear of\nClyt\u00e6mnestra, Agamemnon's wife, and poured sweet poison into her mind.\nFor a long while she refused to hearken to his base proposals, for she\nwas of a good understanding, and moreover there was ever at her side a\nminstrel, into whose care Agamemnon had given her when he went to\nTroy. But \u00c6gisthus seized upon the minstrel, and left him on a desert\nisland to be devoured by carrion birds. Then Clyt\u00e6mnestra yielded to\nhis suit, and he brought her to his own house.\n\n\"But as to thy question concerning Menelaus, he left Troy in my\ncompany, as I told thee, and we sailed together as far as Sunium.\nThere Menelaus lost his steersman, who was visited by Apollo with\nsudden death, as he sat by the helm; so he remained there to bury his\ncomrade. But his misfortunes were not yet over; for when he reached\nthe steep headland at Malea a violent storm arose, and parted his\nfleet. Some of his ships ran into Crete for shelter, while he himself\nwas carried away to Egypt, where he remained many days, and gathered\nstore of wealth.\n\n\"Now thou understandest why \u00c6gisthus was able to work his will on\nAgamemnon, and why he escaped vengeance so long. For seven years he\nsat on the throne of golden Mycen\u00e6, and grievously oppressed the\npeople. But in the eighth year came Orestes, and cut him off in the\nfulness of his sin; and on that very day Menelaus came to him, loaded\nwith the treasures of Egypt.\n\n\"Far and long had he wandered; but so do not thou, my child. Leave not\nthy house unguarded, while so many foes are gathered against thee,\nlest when thou return thou find thyself stripped of all. But to\nMenelaus I would have thee go; him thou must by all means consult; for\nwho knows what he may have learnt on that wondrous voyage? Vast is the\nspace of water over which he has travelled, not to be measured in one\nyear by a bird in her speediest flight. If thou wilt, thou canst go to\nSparta in thy ship, or if thou choose to go by land, my chariots and\nmy horses are thine for this service, and my sons shall guide you on\nthe way.\"\n\nII\n\nAmid such talk as this, with many a brave story \"of moving accidents\nby flood and field,\" and many a pithy saw from the white-haired\nNestor, who had lived so long and seen so much, the hours glided\nswiftly by, and the red sun was stooping to the horizon when Mentor\nrose from his seat and said: \"We must be going; the hour of rest is at\nhand, and to-morrow we have far to go.\"\n\n\"Tarry yet a little,\" said Nestor, \"and eat a morsel and drink a cup\nwith us. And after that, if ye are fain to sleep, ye shall have fit\nlodging in my house. Heaven forbid that I should suffer such guests as\nyou to sleep on the cold deck, covered with dew, as if I were some\nneedy wretch, with never a blanket to spare for a friend. May the gods\npreserve me from such a reproach!\"\n\n\"Thou sayest well,\" answered Mentor, \"and Telemachus shall be thy\nguest to-night. But for me, I pray thee have me excused. My place is\non the ship, that I may give an eye to the crew, for I am the only man\nof experience among them. And to-morrow I must go to Elis, to recover\na debt of long standing due to me there. I leave Telemachus to thy\ncare, that thou mayest cherish him and speed him on his way.\"\n\nAs he said these words, while all eyes were fixed upon him, the\nspeaker vanished from sight, and in his stead a great sea-eagle rose\ninto the air, and sped westwards towards the setting sun. Long they\nsat speechless and amazed, and Nestor was the first to break the\nsilence. \"Great things are in store for thee, my son,\" said he to\nTelemachus, \"since thou keepest such company thus early in life. This\nwas none other than Jove's mighty daughter, Athene, who honoured thy\nfather so highly among the Greeks. Be gracious to us, our queen, and\nlet thy blessing rest on me and on my house! and I will offer to thee\na yearling heifer, that hath never felt the yoke. To thee will I\nsacrifice her, when I have made gilt her horns with gold.\"\n\nThen Nestor led the way to his house, and Telemachus sat down with him\nand his sons in the hall. And they filled a bowl with wine eleven\nyears old, exceeding choice, which was reserved for honoured guests.\nAnd after they had finished the bowl, and offered prayer to Athene,\nthey parted for the night. For Telemachus a bed was prepared in the\nportico, and close by him slept Pisistratus, the youngest of Nestor's\nsons.\n\nWhen Telemachus rose next morning he found his host already afoot,\ngiving orders to his sons to prepare the sacrifice to Athene. One was\nsent to fetch the heifer, another to summon the goldsmith, and a third\nto bring up the crew of Telemachus' ship, while the rest busied\nthemselves in raising the altar and making all ready for the\nsacrifice.\n\nPresently the heifer was driven lowing into the courtyard, and the\ngoldsmith followed with the instruments of his art. Nestor gave him\ngold, and the smith beat it into thin leaf with his hammer, and laid\nit skilfully over the horns of the heifer. A handmaid brought pure\nwater, and barley-meal in a basket, while one of Nestor's sons stood\nready with an axe, and another held a bowl to catch the blood. Then\nNestor dipped his hands in the water, took barley-meal from the basket\nand sprinkled it on the head of the beast, and cutting a tuft of hair\nfrom the forehead cast it into the fire. The prayer was spoken, and\nall due rites being ended he who held the axe smote the heifer on the\nhead, just behind the horns. The women raised the sacrificial cry as\nthe heifer dropped to the ground; and next they whose office it was\nlifted up the victim's head, and Pisistratus cut the throat. When the\nlast quiver of life was over they flayed the carcass, cut strips of\nflesh from the thighs, and enveloping them in fat, burnt them on the\naltar. The gods had now their share of the feast; the rest was cut\ninto slices, and broiled over the live embers.\n\nWhile the meal was preparing, Telemachus enjoyed the refreshment of a\nbath; and Polycaste, the youngest of Nestor's daughters, waited on\nhim; for such was the patriarchal simplicity of those days. When he\nhad bathed, and finished his morning meal, the chariot was brought\nout, and a strong pair of horses led under the yoke. And the\nhouse-dame came with a basket, loaded with wine and delicate viands,\nand placed it behind the seat. Telemachus took his place by the side\nof Pisistratus, who was to drive the horses; the last farewells were\nspoken, Pisistratus cracked his whip, and away they went under the\nechoing gateway, and on through the streets of Pylos.\n\n[Illustration: Telemachus departing from Nestor]\n\nThat night they slept at the house of a friend, and early next day\nthey continued their journey. The way grew steep and difficult, great\nmasses of mountains rose near at hand, and at length they entered a\nwide valley, covered with waving fields of corn. By sunset they\nreached the end of their journey, and drew up before the stately\nportals of King Menelaus.\n\n\n\n\nTelemachus at Sparta\n\n\nI\n\nMenelaus was keeping the double marriage feast of his son and\ndaughter, and his house was thronged with wedding guests. All sat\nsilent and attentive, listening to the strains of a harper, and\nwatching the gambols of a pair of tumblers, who were whirling in giddy\nreels round the hall. Presently voices were heard at the entrance, and\none of the squires of Menelaus came and informed his master that two\nstrangers of noble mien were standing without, craving hospitality.\n\"Shall I bring them in,\" asked the squire, \"or send them on to another\nhouse?\"\n\n\"Hast thou lost thy wits?\" answered Menelaus in some heat, being\ntouched in his most sensitive point. \"Shall we, who owe so much to the\nkindness of strangers, in the long years of our wanderings, send any\nman from our doors? Unyoke the horses, and bid our new guests enter.\"\n\nFour or five servants hastened to do his bidding. The horses, covered\nwith sweat from their hard journey, were unyoked and led into the\nstable, and Telemachus, with his companion, was ushered with all\ncourtesy into the great hall of Menelaus. The palace was one of the\nwealthiest and most splendid in Greece; and Telemachus, accustomed to\na much humbler style of dwelling, stood amazed at the glories which\nmet his eyes. After bathing and changing their raiment they returned\nto the hall, and were assigned places close to the chair of Menelaus.\n\nThe prince greeted them kindly, and said: \"Welcome to our halls, young\nsirs. Ye are, as I see, of no mean descent, for Zeus has set his stamp\non your faces,[1] and none can mistake the signs of kingly birth. When\nye have eaten, we will inquire of you further.\"\n\n[Footnote 1: In Homer, all kings and their families are supposed to be\ndescended from Zeus.]\n\nA plentiful and delicate meal was promptly set before the young\ntravellers, and they ate and drank with keen appetite. When they had\nfinished, Telemachus said to Pisistratus, speaking low, that he might\nnot be overheard: \"Dear son of Nestor, is not this a brave place! Hast\nthou ever seen such lavish ornament of silver, and gold, and ivory?\nSurely such is the dwelling of Olympian Zeus; more magnificent it can\nhardly be.\"\n\nThe quick ear of Menelaus caught his last words, and he answered,\nsmiling: \"Nay, my friend, no mortal may vie with the everlasting\nglories of Zeus. But whether any man can equal me in riches, I know\nnot. For indeed I wandered far and long to gather all this treasure,\nto Cyprus, and Phoenicia, and Egypt, to \u00c6thiopia, and Sidon, and the\nAfric shore, a land unmatched in its countless multitudes of sheep.\nThere the ewes bring forth young three times a year, and the poorest\nshepherd has abundance of cheese, and flesh, and milk. From all these\nlands I gathered many a costly freight, and now I dwell in the midst\nof plenty. Nevertheless my heart is sad, when I think of all that I\nhave lost. Had I returned home straight from Troy, I should have come\nback a poor man, for my house had gone to waste in my absence; but I\nshould not have had to mourn for the death of my brother, struck down,\nas doubtless ye have heard, by a murderer's hand. And then the thought\nlies heavy upon me of all those who fell in my cause at Troy, and\nespecially of one who was dear to me above all, Odysseus, ever the\nforemost in every toil and adventure. His image haunts me by day and\nby night, marring my slumbers, and making my food taste bitter in my\nmouth. He was a man of many woes, and sorrowful is the lot of his wife\nPenelope and Telemachus his son.\"\n\nAt this mention of his father Telemachus could not control his tears,\nbut covered his face with his mantle, and wept without restraint.\nMenelaus saw his emotion, and began to suspect who he was; but for the\npresent he said nothing.\n\nA slight stir was now heard at the back of the hall, and a low murmur\nwent round among the guests, who whispered to each other: \"The Queen!\nThe Queen!\" And in she came softly, with slow and stately step, Helen,\nthe daughter of Tyndareus, and wife of Menelaus, fairest among all the\nhigh-born dames of Greece. Her wondrous beauty was now ripened into\nmatronly perfection, but now and then a shadow seemed to pass over her\nface, like the ghost of an old sin, long repented and forgiven. A\nhandmaid set a chair for her, throwing over it a soft rug, and brought\na footstool for her feet, while another bare a silver basket, with\nrims of gold, and placed it ready, filled with purple yarn. When Helen\nwas seated, she gazed long and earnestly at Telemachus, and then,\nturning to her husband, she said; \"Menelaus, shall I utter the thought\nwhich is in my heart? Nay, speak I must. Ne'er saw I such a likeness,\neither in man or woman, as is the likeness of this fair youth to\nOdysseus. Surely this is Telemachus, whom he left an infant in Ithaca\nwhen the host was summoned to Troy to fight in a worthless woman's\ncause.\"\n\n\"I have marked it too,\" answered Menelaus. \"Such were his very hands\nand feet, and the carriage of his head, and the glance of his eye.\nMoreover, when I made mention of Odysseus he covered his face, and\nwept full sore.\"\n\nTelemachus was still too much distressed to speak, and Pisistratus had\nto answer for him: \"Thou sayest truly, my lord; it is Telemachus\nhimself. Nestor sent me with him to inquire of thee, and crave counsel\nof thy wisdom. He is left like an orphan in his home, with none to aid\nhim, and take his father's place.\"\n\nThen Menelaus drew near to Telemachus, and taking his hand kindly\nsaid: \"Welcome again, and thrice welcome to these halls, thou son of\nmy trustiest friend and helper! It was the dream of my life to bring\nOdysseus and all his household from Ithaca, and give him a home and a\ncity in this land, that we might grow old together in friendship and\nloving-kindness, never to be parted until death. But envious heaven\nhas blighted my hopes and hindered his return.\"\n\nAt these sad words every eye was moist, and all sat silent, absorbed\nin sorrowful memories. Pisistratus was the first to speak, and his\nwords roused the rest from their melancholy mood. \"Son of Atreus,\" he\nsaid, \"my father has often spoken of thy wisdom, and perchance it has\ntaught thee that sorrow is an ill guest at a banquet. The dead,\nindeed, claim their due, and he would be hard-hearted who would grudge\nthem the poor tribute of a tear. But we cannot mourn for ever, even\nfor such a one as my brother Antilochus, whom I never saw, but thou\nknewest him well, stout in battle, and swift in the pursuit.\"\n\n\"'Tis well said,\" replied Menelaus. \"Thou art wise beyond thy years,\nand a true son of Nestor. Happy is he, beyond the common lot of men,\nand smooth and fair runs the thread of his Destiny. He dwells in a\ngreen old age in his father's house, and sees his sons growing up\naround him, true heirs of his valour and prudence. Now let us banish\ncare, and get to our supper, for the day is far spent, and we have\nmatter for talk which will last us all the morrow.\"\n\nWhen they had finished eating, and the cups were about to be\nreplenished, Helen rose from her seat, and, whispering a few words to\nthe cupbearer, left the hall. In a few minutes she returned, carrying\nin her hand a small phial, whose contents she poured into the great\nmixing-bowl from which the cups were filled. \"Now, drink,\" she said,\n\"and fear not that black care will pay us a second visit to-night. I\nhave poured into the wine a drug of wondrous potency and virtue, which\nwas given me in Egypt by Polydamna, the wife of Thon. Many such drugs\nthe soil of Egypt bears, some baneful and some good. And the Egyptians\nare skilled in such craft beyond all mankind. He who drinks of this\ndrug will be armed for that day against all the assaults of sorrow,\nand will not shed one tear, though his father and mother were to die,\nno, not though he saw his brother or his son slain before his eyes. So\nmighty is the virtue of this drug.\" And when they had drunk of the\nmagic potion Helen began again: \"'Tis now the witching hour, when all\nhearts are opened, and the burden of life presses lightest on men's\nshoulders. Come, let me tell you a story, one among many, of the deeds\nand the hardihood of Odysseus. It was in the days of the siege, and\nthe Trojans were kept close prisoners in their city by the leaguer of\nthe Greeks. Then he disguised himself as a beggar, clothed himself in\nfilthy rags, and marred his goodly person with cruel stripes. In such\nfashion he entered the foemen's walls, as if he were a slave flying\nfrom a hard master.[1] And I alone in all the city knew who he was. So\nI brought him to my house, and began to question him; but he made as\nif he understood not. But when I entertained him as an honoured guest,\nand swore a solemn oath not to betray him, he trusted me, and declared\nall the purpose of the Greeks. At dead of night he stole out into the\ntown, and, having slain many of the Trojans with the edge of the\nsword, he went back to the camp, and brought much information to his\nfriends.\n\n[Footnote 1: Compare the stratagem of Zopyrus, in \"Stories from Greek\nHistory.\"]\n\n\"When morning came, the voice of wailing rose high in the streets of\nTroy; but my heart rejoiced, for I was filled with longing for my\nhome, and my eyes were opened to the folly which I had wrought by the\nbeguilement of Aphrodite, when I left my fatherland and broke faith\nwith my lord.\"\n\n\"Tis a good story, and thou hast told it well, fair wife,\" said\nMenelaus. \"Now hear my tale. It was the time when I and the other\nchampions were shut up in the wooden horse; and Odysseus was with us.\nThen thou camest thither, led, I suppose, by some god, hostile to\nGreece, who wished to work our ruin; and Deiphobus followed thee.\nThree times thou didst pace around our hollow ambush, feeling it with\nthy hands, and calling aloud to the princes of Greece by name; and thy\nvoice was like the voice of all their wives. There we sat, I, and\nDiomede, and the rest, and heard thee calling. Now I and Diomede were\nminded to answer thee, or to go forth and confer with thee; but\nOdysseus suffered it not, and when one of our number was about to lift\nup his voice he pressed his hands on that foolish mouth, and\nrestrained him by force until thou hadst left the place. And so he\nsaved all our lives.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Telemachus, \"he had a heart of iron. But what has it\navailed him? It could not save him from ruin. Howbeit, no more of\nthis; 'tis time to go to rest and forget our cares in sleep.\"\n\nII\n\nEarly next morning Telemachus found his host sitting by his bedside;\nand as soon as he was dressed Menelaus led him to a quiet place, and\ninquired the reason of his coming. He listened with attention while\nTelemachus explained the purpose of his visit; but when he heard of\nthe suitors, and their riot and waste, he was filled with indignation.\n\n\"What!\" he cried, \"would these dastards fill the seat and wed the wife\nof that mighty man? Their lot shall be the lot of a pair of fawns,\nleft by the mother hind in a lion's lair. The hind goes forth to\npasture, and in her absence the lion returns, and devours them where\nthey lie. Even so shall Odysseus return, and bring swift destruction\non the whole crew.\n\n\"But thou hast asked me what I know of the fortunes of Odysseus, since\nhe departed from Troy; and verily I will tell thee all that I have\nheard, without turning aside in my tale. I must go back to the time\nwhen I lay wind-bound with my ships in a little island off the mouth\nof the Nile. The island is called Pharos, and it is distant a day's\nvoyage from the river's mouth. I had lain there twenty days, and still\nnot a breath of air ruffled the glassy surface of the sea. All our\nstores were consumed, and we had nothing to eat but the fish which my\nmen caught with rudely fashioned hooks and lines. One day I left my\nmen busy with their angling, and wandered away along the shore, full\nof sad thoughts, and wondering how all this would end. Suddenly I\nheard a light footstep on the pebbles, and there stepped forth from\nbehind a tall rock a young maiden in white, flowing robes. Full of\ndread I saw her coming towards me; for I knew that she was no mortal\nwoman. But her look was gracious, and her voice was sweet; so I took\ncourage as she said: 'Who art thou, stranger, and why lingerest thou\nwith thy company in this desert place? I am Eidothea, daughter of\nProteus, the ancient one of the sea; and I am ready to help thee, if\nthou wilt tell me thy need.'\n\n\"Then I told her how I had been kept an unwilling captive on the\nisland, and begged her to let me know what power I had offended, that\nhe might be appeased by sacrifice, and suffer the wind to blow. 'There\nis one who can tell thee all that thou desirest to know,' answered\nshe. 'Yea, Proteus, my father, will show thee how to win thy path\nacross the watery waste. No secrets are hidden from him, neither on\nearth nor in the sea; and he can tell thee all that hath befallen in\nthy house in the long years of thine absence. Now hearken, and I will\ntell thee how thou mayest wring from him all his secrets. Every day at\nnoon he comes forth from the sea, and lays him down to sleep in a\nrocky cave; and about him are couched his herd of seals. I will bring\nthee to the place in the early morning, and set thee in ambush to\nawait his coming. Choose three of the stoutest of thy men to aid thee\nin the adventure, and as soon as thou seest him asleep rush upon him\nand hold him fast. He will struggle hard, and take a hundred different\nshapes; but loose him not until he return to his own form, and then\nwill he reveal to thee all that he has to tell.'\n\n\"So saying, the goddess disappeared beneath the waves. Next morning I\nwent with three picked men to the appointed place, and soon Eidothea\narrived, bearing four hides of seals, freshly flayed. Then she\nhollowed out four pits in the sand for us to lie in, and clothed us in\nthe skins, and couched us together. Now that bed had like to have been\nour last, for we were stifled by the dreadful stench of the seabred\nseals. But the goddess saw our distress, and found a remedy; for she\nbrought ambrosia and set it beneath our nostrils, and that heavenly\nperfume overpowered the noisome stench.\n\n\"So all the morning we lay and wafted patiently, and at noon the seals\ncame up out of the sea and lay down in order on the sand. Last of all\ncame Proteus, and counted his herd, reckoning us among their number,\nwith no suspicion of guile. We waited until he was fast asleep, and\nthen we rushed from our ambush and seized him hand and foot. Long and\nhard was the struggle, and many the shapes which he took. First he\nbecame a bearded lion, then a snake, then a leopard, then a huge boar;\nafter these he turned into running water and a tall, leafy tree. But\nwe only held him the more firmly, and at last he grew weary and spake\nto me in his own shape: 'What wouldst thou have, son of Atreus, and\nwho has taught thee to outwit me and take me captive by craft?'\n\n\"'Thou knowest my need,' I answered; 'why dost thou waste thy words?\nTell me rather how I may find release from my present strait'\n\n\"'Hear, then,' said he: 'thou hast forgotten thy duty to Zeus and the\nother gods. Not a victim bled, not a prayer was offered, when thou\ndidst embark on this voyage. Go back to Egypt, to the holy waters of\nNile, and there pay thy vows, and offer a great sacrifice to their\noffended deity; thus, and thus only, canst thou win thy return to\nthine own country and thy stately home.'\n\n\"When I heard this my heart was broken within me, to think of that\nlong and perilous path across the misty deep. Nevertheless I consented\nto take that journey, for I saw no other way of escape. And after I\nhad promised to obey him, I began to inquire further of the fate of\nNestor and the rest, whom I left behind me on my way home.\n\n\"''Tis a grievous story that thou requirest of me,' said Proteus, 'and\nthou shalt have little joy in the hearing. Many have been taken and\nmany left. Two only perished in returning, and one is still living, a\nprisoner of the sea. Ajax has paid his debt to Athene, whose shrine he\npolluted; and this was the manner of his death: when his vessel was\nshattered by that great tempest, he himself escaped to a rock, for\nPoseidon came to his aid. But even the peril which he had just escaped\ncould not subdue his haughtiness and his pride, and he uttered an\nimpious vaunt, boasting that in despite of heaven he had escaped a\nwatery grave. Then Poseidon was wroth, and smote the rock with his\ntrident, and that half of the rock on which Ajax was sitting fell into\nthe sea, bearing him with it. So he died, when he had drunk the brine.\n\n\"'Now harden thy heart, and learn how thy brother Agamemnon fell.\nAfter a long and stormy voyage he at length brought his shattered\nvessels safe into harbour, and set foot on his native soil at Argos.\nWith tears of joy and thankfulness he fell on his knees and kissed the\nsod, trusting that now his sorrows were passed. Now there was a\nwatchman whom \u00c6gisthus had posted on a high place commanding the sea\nto look out for Agamemnon's return. A whole year he watched, for he\nhad been promised a great reward. And when he saw the king's face he\nwent with all speed to tell his master. Forthwith \u00c6gisthus prepared an\nambush of twenty armed men; these he kept in hiding at the back of the\nhall, while he ordered his servants to prepare a great banquet. Then\nhe went to meet Agamemnon with horses and with chariots, and brought\nhim to his house, and made good cheer. And when he had feasted him he\nsmote and slew him, as a man slaughters an ox in his stall.'\n\n\"At that tale of horror I fell upon the sand, weeping bitterly, for I\nhad no desire to live any longer or look on the light of the sun. Long\nI lay mourning, as one who had lost all hope, but at last Proteus\nchecked the torrent of my passion, and bade me take thought of my own\nhomecoming. 'This is no time,' he said, 'to melt away in womanish\ngrief. Haste thee to take vengeance, if so be that Orestes hath not\nforestalled thee, and slain his father's murderer.'\n\n\"Somewhat comforted by these words, I took courage to ask who was the\nman of whom he had spoken as a prisoner of the sea. 'It is the son of\nLaertes,' answered Proteus, 'Odysseus, whose home is in Ithaca. I\nmyself saw him on an island, in the house of the nymph Calypso; and\nsore he wept because he could not leave the goddess, who holds him in\nthrall, and will not suffer him to return to his country.'\n\n\"Lastly, he told me concerning my own fate. 'Thou, Menelaus,' he said,\n'art exempt from the common lot of men, because thou art the husband\nof Helen, and she is a daughter of Zeus. Therefore it is not appointed\nfor thee to die, but when thine hour is come the gods shall convey\nthee to the Elysian fields, where dwell the elect spirits in\neverlasting blessedness. There falls not snow nor rain, there blows no\nrude blast, but the fresh cool breath of the west comes softly from\nOcean to refresh them that dwell in that happy clime.'\"\n\nThus happily ended the story of the Spartan prince's wanderings. And\nwhen he had finished, he pressed Telemachus to prolong his visit; but\nthat prudent youth declined the invitation, pleading the necessity of\na speedy return to Ithaca, that he might keep an eye on the doings of\nthe suitors. Menelaus was compelled to allow the justice of his plea,\nand accordingly all things were made ready for a speedy departure.\n\nIII\n\nWe must now return to Ithaca, and see what reception was preparing for\nTelemachus when he came back from his adventurous journey. Two or\nthree days after he left Ithaca the suitors were gathered before the\ndoors of Odysseus, playing at quoits, or hurling their javelins at a\nmark. Presently a young noble came up to the group, and addressing\nAntinous, who was watching the sport, asked him if he had heard aught\nof Telemachus. \"I would fain know how long he is like to be absent\nfrom Ithaca,\" he said; \"for he has borrowed my ship, and I have need\nof her. Know ye when he is to return from Pylos?\"\n\nAntinous heard him with amazement; for neither he nor any other of the\nsuitors knew that Telemachus had sailed from Ithaca, supposing him to\nbe absent on his farm. So he questioned the youth closely as to the\ntime and manner of that voyage, how the crew was composed, and whether\nthe vessel was lent willingly, or taken by force. \"Of my own free will\nI lent her,\" answered the lad, \"why should I not help him in his need?\nAs to the crew, they were all picked men, and well born; and the\ncaptain was Mentor, or some god in his likeness; for I saw Mentor\nyesterday in the town, and not a ship has touched at Ithaca since they\nsailed.\"\n\nWhen he who had lent the ship was departed the suitors left their\nsports, and drawing close together began to converse in low tones.\nThey were full of anger against Telemachus because of this journey,\nwhich gave the lie to their malicious prophecies, and was not without\nprospect of danger to themselves. Accordingly Antinous found ready\nhearers when he stood up and spoke as follows:--\"This forward boy must\nbe put down, or he will mar our wooing. It is a great deed which he\nhas done, and he will not stop here, unless we find means to cut short\nhis adventures. Now hear what I advise: let us man a ship and moor her\nin the narrow sea between Ithaca and Samos, and lie in wait for him\nthere. This cruise of his is like to cost him dear.\"\n\nThe plan was highly approved, and the whole body rose and entered the\nhouse together, resolved to act at once on the advice of Antinous.\nBefore long news of their wicked designs came to the ears of Penelope,\nwho was still ignorant of her son's departure; for Eurycleia had kept\nher counsel well. The evil tidings were brought by Medon, a servant in\nthe house of Odysseus, who had overheard the suitors plotting\ntogether, while he stood concealed behind a buttress of the courtyard\nfence. Without delay he went in search of Penelope, whom he found\nsitting with her handmaids in her chamber. As soon as he appeared on\nthe threshold Penelope looked at him reproachfully, and said: \"What\nmessage bringest thou from thy fair masters? Is it their pleasure that\nmy maidens should leave their tasks and spread the board for them? Out\non your feasting and your wooing! May this be the last morsel that ye\never taste! Ungrateful men, have ye forgotten all the good deeds that\nwere wrought here by the hands of Odysseus, and all the kindness that\nye received from him? Yes, all is forgotten; ye have no thought in\nyour hearts but to grow fat at his cost, and devour his living.\"\n\n\"Alas! lady,\" answered Medon, \"would that this were the worst! But I\nam the bearer of heavier news than this. Telemachus has sailed to\nPylos, to inquire concerning his father, and the suitors have plotted\nto slay him on his way home.\" Having delivered his message, Medon left\nthe chamber, and the door was shut.\n\nLong Penelope sat without a word, struck dumb by this cruel blow.\nThen, as if seized by a sudden thought, she rose from her seat, and\ntook two paces towards the door. But her strength failing her she\ntottered backward, and sank down upon the ground, leaning against the\nwall. Her handmaids gathered round her, and would have lifted her up,\nbut she waved them off and at last gave utterance to her feelings in\nwailing and broken tones:\n\n\"Woeful beyond the lot of all women on earth is my portion! First, I\nlost my lion-hearted lord, rich in every excellent gift, a hero among\nheroes; and now the powers of the air[1] have carried off my child, my\nwell-beloved, without one word of farewell. Hearts of stone, why did\nye not tell me of his going? Had I known his purpose I would have\nprevailed on him to stay, or he must have left me dead in these halls.\nGo, one of you, and call Dolius, the keeper of my garden and orchard,\nand send him to tell all to Laertes, if haply he may devise some way\nto turn the hearts of the people, and save his race from being utterly\ncut off.\"\n\n[Footnote 1: Demons, to whom sudden disappearance was attributed.]\n\n\"Sweet lady,\" answered Eurycleia, who was sitting among the women, \"I\nwill tell thee all the truth, and then thou shalt slay me, if it be\nthy will. I was privy to this journey, and Telemachus made me swear a\nsolemn oath not to reveal it to thee until twelve days were passed, or\nthou hadst heard of it from others. For he feared that thou wouldst\nwaste thy fair cheeks with weeping. But be not cast down; I am sure\nthat the gods hate not so utterly the house of Odysseus, nor purpose\nto destroy it altogether. Vex not the old man Laertes in his sorrow,\nbut go wash thyself, put on clean raiment, and go up and pray to\nAthene in thy upper chamber to guard and keep thy son from harm.\"\n\nThen Penelope was comforted, and dried her tears, and went up with her\nhandmaids to the upper chamber. There she made her offering before the\nshrine of Athene, and lifted up her voice in prayer: \"Daughter of\nZeus, stern warrior maiden, if ever my lord Odysseus offered\nacceptable sacrifice to thee, remember now his service, save my son,\nand let not the wooers work evil against him.\" When her prayer was\nended the women joined their voices with hers, and called again and\nagain on the awful name of Athene. After that they left her, and she\nsank down on a couch, exhausted by her emotions, and full of anxious\nthought. At length she ceased her weary tossing, and fell into a quiet\nand refreshing sleep.\n\nAthene had heard her prayer, and being full of pity for the sorely\ntried lady she resolved to find means to soothe her troubled spirit.\nSo she made a phantom, like in form and in feature to Iphthime, a\nsister of Penelope, who lived with her husband in distant Pher\u00e6. And\nthe phantom came to the house of Penelope, and entering her chamber by\nthe keyhole, stood by her bedside and spake to her thus: \"Sorrow not\nat all, nor vex thy soul for the sake of Telemachus. The gods love thy\nson, and will bring him safe home.\"\n\nThen wise Penelope made answer, slumbering right sweetly at the gates\nof dreams: \"Dear sister, what has brought thee hither from thy far\ndistant home? Thou biddest me take comfort, but my heart is torn with\nfear and grief for my brave lord, and yet more for Telemachus, who is\nencompassed with perils by sea and by land.\" \"Fear nothing,\" answered\nthe dim phantom. \"He has a mighty helper by his side, even Pallas\nAthene, who sent me hither to strengthen and console thee.\" With that\nthe ghostly visitor vanished as it came, and left Penelope much\ncheered by the clear vision which had brought her words of healing at\nthe blackest hour of the night.\n\nMeanwhile Antinous had taken steps to carry out his villainous design.\nAt nightfall he went down to the sea with twenty picked men, boarded\nthe vessel which had been prepared for their use, and sailed out to a\nlittle island which lies in the middle of the strait between Samos and\nIthaca. There they anchored in a sheltered bay, and waited for the\ncoming of Telemachus.\n\n\n\n\nOdysseus and Calypso\n\n\nI\n\nWe have waited long for the appearance of Odysseus, and at last he is\nabout to enter the scene, which he will never leave again until the\nfinal act of the great drama is played out. Hitherto he has been\npursued by the malice of Poseidon, who wrecked his fleet, drowned all\nhis men, and kept him confined for seven years in Calypso's island, in\nvengeance for the blinding of his son Polyphemus.\n\nBut now the prayers of Athene have prevailed, and Hermes, the\nmessenger of the gods, is on his way from Olympus, bearing a\nperemptory summons to Calypso to let Odysseus depart. Shod with his\ngolden, winged sandals, which bear him, swift as the wind, over moist\nand dry, and holding in his hand his magic wand, Hermes skimmed like a\nseagull over the blue waters of the \u00c6g\u00e6an, until he came to that far\ndistant isle. Arrived there, he went straight to the great cavern\nwhere Calypso dwelt; and he found her there, walking about her room,\nweaving with a golden shuttle, and singing sweetly at her work. A\ngreat fire was blazing on the hearth, sending forth a sweet odour of\ncedar and sandal-wood. Round about the cavern grew a little wood of\nblossoming trees, \"alder and poplar tall, and cypress sweet of smell\";\nand there owls and hawks and cormorants built their nests. Over the\nthreshold was trained a wide-branching vine, with many a purple\ncluster and wealth of rustling leaves. Four springs of clear water\nwelled up before the cave, and wandered down to the meadows where the\nviolet and parsley grew. It was a choice and cool retreat, meet\ndwelling for a lovely nymph.\n\nCalypso greeted her visitor kindly, bade him be seated, and set nectar\nand ambrosia before him. And when he had refreshed himself, he told\nhis message. \"I bear the commands of Zeus,\" he said, \"and to do his\nhigh will have I travelled this long and weary way. It is said that\nthou keepest with thee a man of many woes, who has suffered more than\nany of those who fought at Troy. Him thou art commanded to send away\nfrom thee with all speed; for it is not destined for him to end his\ndays here, but the hour has come when he must go back to his home and\ncountry, Zeus has spoken, and thou must obey.\"\n\nThis was bitter news to Calypso, for she loved Odysseus, and would\nhave made him immortal, that he might abide with her for ever. She\nwrung her hands, and said in a mournful voice: \"Now I know of a truth\nthat the gods are a jealous race, and will not suffer one of their\nkind to wed with a mortal mate. Therefore Orion fell by the unseen\narrows of Artemis, when fair Aurora chose him for her lord; and\ntherefore Zeus slew Iasion with his lightning, because he was loved of\nDemeter. Is not Odysseus mine? Did I not save him and cherish him when\nhe was flung naked and helpless on these shores? But since no other\ndeity may evade or frustrate the will of Zeus, let him go, and I will\nshow him how he may reach his own country without scathe.\"\n\nWhen he had heard Calypso's answer, Hermes took leave of her, and\nreturned to Olympus, and the nymph went down to the part of the shore\nwhere she knew Odysseus was accustomed to sit. There he would remain\nall day, gazing tearfully over the barren waste of waters, and wearing\nout his soul with ceaseless lamentation. For he had long grown weary\nof his soft slavery in Calypso's cave, and yearned with exceeding\ngreat desire for the familiar hills of Ithaca, so rugged, but so dear.\nAnd there Calypso found him now, sitting on a rock with dejected mien.\nShe sat down at his side, and said: \"A truce to thy complaints, thou\nman of woes! Thou hast thy wish; I will let thee go with all\ngood-will, and I will show thee how to build a broad raft, which\nshall bear thee across the misty deep. I will victual her with corn\nand wine, and clothe thee in new garments, and send a breeze behind\nthee to waft thee safe. Thus am I commanded by the gods, whose\ndwelling is in the wide heaven, and their will I do. Up now and fell\nme yon tall trees for timber to make the raft.\"\n\nOdysseus was by nature a very shrewd and cautious man, and he feared\nthat Calypso was contriving some mischief against him, in revenge for\nhis coldness. He looked at her doubtfully, and answered: \"I fear thee,\nnymph, and I mistrust thy purpose. How shall a man cross this dreadful\ngulf, where no ship is ever seen, on a raft? And though that were\npossible, I will never leave thee against thy will. Swear to me now\nthat thou intendest me no harm.\"\n\nCalypso smiled at his suspicions, and patted him on the shoulder as\nshe answered: \"Thou art a sad rogue, and very deep of wit, as anyone\nmay see by these words of thine. Now hear me swear: Witness, thou\nearth, and the wide heaven above us, and the dark waterfall of Styx,\nthe greatest and most awful thing by which a god may swear, that I\nintend no ill, but only good, to this man.\"\n\nHaving sworn that oath Calypso rose, and bidding Odysseus follow led\nthe way to her cave. There she set meat before him, such as mortal men\neat, and wine to drink; but she herself was served by her handmaids\nwith immortal food, and nectar, the wine of the gods. When they had\nsupped, Calypso looked at Odysseus and said: \"And wilt thou indeed\nleave me, thou strange man? Am I not tall and fair, and worthy to be\ncalled a daughter of heaven? And is thy Penelope so rare a dame, that\nthou preferrest her to me! Ah! if thou knewest all the toils which\nawait thee before thou reachest thy home, and all the perils prepared\nfor thee there, thou wouldst renounce thy purpose, and dwell for ever\nwith me. Nevertheless go, if go thou must, and my blessing go with\nthee.\"\n\nHer words were kind, but some anger lurked in her tone, which Odysseus\nhastened to appease. \"Fair goddess,\" he answered, \"be not wroth with\nme. I know that thou art more lovely far than my wife Penelope; for\nthou art divine, and she is but a mortal woman. Nevertheless I long\nday and night to see her face, and to sit beneath the shadow of my own\nrooftree. And if I be stricken again by the hand of Heaven on the\npurple sea, I will bear it, for I have a very patient heart. Long have\nI toiled, and much have I suffered, amid waves and wars. If more\nremains, I will endure that also.\"\n\nII\n\nAt early dawn, when the eastern wave was just silvered by the dim\nlight, Calypso roused Odysseus, and equipped him for the task of the\nday. First she gave him a weighty two-edged axe, well balanced on its\nhaft of olive-wood, and an adze, freshly ground; then she showed him\nwhere the tall trees grew, and bade him fall to work with the axe.\nTwenty great trees fell beneath his sturdy strokes, and he trimmed the\ntrunks with the axe, and stripped off the bark. Meanwhile Calypso had\nbrought him an augur, and he bored the timbers, and fitted them\ntogether, and fastened them with bolts and cross-pieces. So the raft\ngrew under his hands, broad as the floor of a stout merchantship. And\nhe fenced her with bulwarks, piling up blocks of wood to steady them.\nLast of all he made mast and sail and rigging; and when all was ready\nhe thrust the frail vessel with rollers and levers down to the sea.\n\nFour times the sun had risen and set before his labour was ended; and\non the fifth day Calypso brought him provisions for the voyage, a\ngreat goatskin bottle full of water, and a smaller one of wine, and a\nsack of corn, with other choice viands as a relish to his bread.\n\nA joyful man was Odysseus when he spread his sail, and took his place\nat the helm, and waved a last farewell to his gentle friend. A fair\nbreeze wafted him swiftly from the shore, and ere long that lovely\nisland, at once his home and his prison for seven long years, became a\nmere shadow in the distance. All night he sat sleepless, tiller in\nhand, watching the pilot stars, the Pleiades, and Bo\u00f6tes, and the\nBear, named also the Wain, which turns on one spot, and watches Orion,\nand never dips into the ocean stream. For the goddess Calypso had\nbidden him keep that star on the left hand as he sailed the seas. Thus\nhe voyaged for seventeen days, and on the eighteenth he saw afar off,\ndimly outlined, a range of hills, rising, like the back of a shield,\nabove the horizon's verge.\n\nNow Poseidon, his great enemy, had been absent for many days on a far\njourney, and thus had taken no part in the council at Olympus when\nZeus had issued his order for the release of Odysseus. Just at this\ntime he was on his way back to Olympus, and caught sight of the bold\nvoyager steering towards the nearest land. \"Ha! art thou there?\" said\nthe implacable god, shaking his head; \"and have the other powers\nplotted against me in my absence, to frustrate my just anger? Thy\nwanderings are well-nigh over, poor wretch! But thou shalt taste once\nmore of my vengeance, before thou reachest yonder shore.\"\n\nSo saying the lord of ocean took his trident and stirred up the deep;\nand the clouds came trooping at his call, covering the sky with a\nblack curtain. Soon a great tempest broke loose, blowing in violent\nand fitful blasts from all the four quarters of heaven. Then pale fear\ngot hold of Odysseus, as he saw the great curling billows heaving\nround his frail craft. \"Woe is me!\" he cried, \"when shall my troubles\nhave an end? Surely the goddess spoke truth, when she foretold me that\nI should perish amid the waves, and never see my home again. Here I\nlie helpless, given over to destruction, the sport of all the winds of\nheaven. Happy, thrice happy, were my comrades who fell fighting\nbravely and found honourable burial in the soil of Troy! Would that I\nhad died on that great day when the battle raged fiercest over the\nbody of Pelides; then should I have found death with honour, but now I\nam doomed to a miserable and dishonoured end.\"\n\nThe words were hardly uttered when a huge toppling wave struck the\nraft with tremendous force, carrying away mast and sail, and hurling\nOdysseus into the sea. Deep down he sank, and the waters darkened over\nhis head, for he was encumbered by the weight of his clothes. At last\nhe rose to the surface, gasping, and spitting out the brine, and\nthough sore spent, he swam towards the raft, and hauled himself on\nboard. There he sat clinging to the dismasted and rudderless vessel,\nwhich was tossed to and fro from wave to wave, as the winds of autumn\nsport with the light thistledown and drive it hither and thither.\n\nBut help was at hand. There was a certain ocean nymph, named Ino,\ndaughter of Cadmus, who had once been a mortal woman, but now was\nnumbered among the immortal powers. She saw and pitied Odysseus, and\nboarding the raft addressed him in this wise: \"Poor man, why is\nPoseidon so wroth with thee that he maltreats thee thus? Yet shall he\nnot destroy thee, for all his malice. Only do as I bid thee, and thou\nshalt get safely to land: take this veil, and when thou hast stripped\noff thy garments, bind it across thy breast. Then leave the raft to\nits fate, and swim manfully to land; and when thou art safe fling the\nveil back into the sea, and go thy way.\"\n\nSo saying the goddess sank beneath the waves, leaving Odysseus with\nher veil in his hand. But that cautious veteran did not at once act on\nher advice, for he feared that some treachery was intended against\nhim. He resolved therefore to remain on the raft as long as her\ntimbers held together, and only to have recourse to the veil in the\nlast extremity.\n\nHe had just taken this prudent resolution, when another wave, more\nhuge than the last, thundered down on the raft, scattering her\ntimbers, as the wind scatters a heap of chaff. Odysseus clung fast to\none beam and, mounting it, sat astride as on a horse, until he had\nstripped off his clothes. Then he bound the veil round him, flung\nhimself head foremost into the billows, and swam lustily towards land.\n\nThe storm was now subsiding, and a steady breeze succeeded, blowing\nfrom the north, which helped that much-tried hero in his struggle for\nlife. Yet for two days and two nights he battled with the waves, and\nwhen day broke on the third day he found himself close under a\nfrowning wall of cliffs, at whose foot the sea was breaking with a\nnoise like thunder. Odysseus ceased swimming, and trod the water,\nlooking anxiously round for an opening in the cliffs where he might\nland. While he hesitated, a great foaming wave came rushing landward,\nthreatening to sweep him against that rugged shore; but Odysseus saw\nhis danger in time, and succeeded in gaining a rocky mass which stood\nabove the surface just before him, and clutching it with hands and\nknees, contrived to keep his hold until the huge billow was past. In\nanother moment he was caught by the recoil of the wave, and flung back\ninto the boiling surf, with fingers torn and bleeding. With desperate\nexertions he fought his way out into the comparatively calm water,\noutside the line of breakers, and swam parallel to the shore, until he\nsaw with delight a sheltered inlet, whence a river flowed into the\nsea. Murmuring a prayer to the god of the river he steered for land,\nand a few strokes brought him to a smooth sandy beach, where he lay\nfor a long time without sense or motion. All his flesh was swollen by\nhis long immersion in the water, the skin was stripped from his hands,\nand when his breath came back to him he felt as weak as a child. Then\na deadly nausea came over him, and the water which he had swallowed\ngushed up through his mouth and nostrils. Somewhat relieved by this,\nhe rose to his feet, and tottering to the river's brink loosed the\nveil from his waist, and dropped it into the flowing water. For he\nremembered the request of Ino, to whom he owed his life.\n\nHe had indeed escaped the sea; but his position seemed almost\nhopeless. There he lay, naked, and more dead than alive, without food\nor shelter, in a strange land, without a sign of human habitation in\nview. Crawling painfully to a bed of rushes he lay down and considered\nwhat was best for him to do. He could not remain where he was, for it\nwas an exposed place, with no protection from the dew, and open to the\nchill breeze from the river, which blows at early dawn. A few hours of\nsuch a vigil would certainly kill him in his exhausted state. If, on\nthe other hand, he sought the shelter of the woods, he feared that he\nwould fall a prey to some prowling beast.\n\nAt last he determined to face the less certain peril, and made his way\ninto a thicket not far from the river side. Searching for a place\nwhere he might lie he soon came upon two dense bushes of olive, whose\nleaves and branches were so closely interwoven that they formed a sort\nof natural arbour, impenetrable by sun, or rain, or wind. \"In good\ntime!\" murmured Odysseus, as he crept beneath that green roof, and\nscooped out a deep bed for himself in the fallen leaves. There he lay\ndown, and piled the leaves high over him. And as a careful housewife\nin some remote farmhouse, where there are no neighbours near, covers\nup a burning brand among the ashes, so that it may last all night, and\npreserve the seed of fire; so lay Odysseus, nursing the spark of life,\nin his deep bed of leaves. And soon he forgot all his troubles in a\ndeep and dreamless sleep.\n\n\n\n\nOdysseus among the Ph\u00e6acians\n\n\nI\n\nThe land on which Odysseus had thus been cast like a piece of broken\nwreckage was called Ph\u00e6acia, and derived its name from the Ph\u00e6acians,\na race of famous mariners, who had settled there some fifty years\nbefore, having been driven from their former seat by the Cyclopes, a\nsavage tribe, who dwelt on their borders. The Ph\u00e6acians were an\nunwarlike people, and being in no condition to resist the fierce\nassaults of these lawless neighbours, they abandoned their homes and\nbuilt a new city on a little peninsula, connected with the mainland by\na narrow isthmus. Defended by strong walls they were now safe against\nall attacks, and they soon grew rich and prosperous in the exercise of\na thriving trade.\n\nAt this time the king of the Ph\u00e6acians was Alcinous, who had a fair\ndaughter, named Nausica\u00e4. On the night when Odysseus lay couched in\nhis bed of leaves Nausica\u00e4 was sleeping in her bower, and with her\nwere two handmaids, whose beds were set on either side of the door.\nAnd in a dream she seemed to hear one of her girlish friends, the\ndaughter of a neighbouring house, speaking to her thus: \"Nausica\u00e4, why\nart thou grown so careless as to suffer all the raiment in thy\nfather's house to remain unwashen, when thy bridal day is so near?\nWouldst thou be wedded in soiled attire, and have all thy friends clad\nunseemly, to put thee to shame? These are a woman's cares, by which\nshe wins a good report among men, and gladdens her mother's heart.\nArise, therefore, at break of day, and beg thy father to let harness\nthe mules to the wain, that thou mayest take the linen to the place of\nwashing, far away by the river's side. I will go with thee, and help\nthee in the work.\"\n\nSo dreamed Nausica\u00e4, and so spake the vision. But the voice which\nseemed the voice of her friend came from no mortal lips; it was Athene\nherself who had visited the maiden's bower, in her care for Odysseus,\nthat he might get safe conduct to the city of the Ph\u00e6acians. And when\nshe had done her errand the goddess went back to Olympus, where is the\nsteadfast, everlasting seat of the blessed gods, not shaken of any\nwind, nor wet with rain, nor chilled by snow, but steeped for ever in\ncloudless, sunny air. There the gods abide for ever and take their\ndelight.\n\nNausica\u00e4 rose betimes, with her mind full of the dream, and went down\nto the hall, where she found her mother sitting by the hearth with her\nwomen, spinning the bright sea-purple thread. Inquiring for her father\nshe learnt that he had but that moment gone forth to attend the\ncouncil of elders, and hastening after him she found him before the\ndoors of the house.\n\n\"Father,\" she said, \"may I have the waggon to take the household\nraiment to the place of washing? Thou thyself hast ever need of clean\ngarments when thou goest to the council, and my brothers will reproach\nme if they lack clean raiment when they go to the dance.\"\n\nThus spake the maiden, being ashamed to make mention of her own\nmarriage. But Alcinous knew, and smiled to himself, as he ordered his\nthralls to prepare the waggon. So when they had harnessed the mules,\nNausica\u00e4 and her handmaids brought the soiled garments, and bestowed\nthem behind the seat. And her mother brought a basket with food for\nthe midday meal and oil for her daughter and the other maidens when\nthey took their bath. Then they took their seats, Nausica\u00e4 grasped the\nreins, and they went off at a sharp trot towards the riverside.\n\nAfter a pleasant drive, they came to the place where stood a row of\ncisterns on the river's bank. There they unharnessed the mules, and\nleft them to crop the sweet clover in the water-meadows. Then they\nunloaded the waggon, threw the garments into washing-troughs, and trod\nthem with their feet until they were thoroughly cleansed, and having\nwrung them out, they spread them on the white pebbly beach to dry.\nWhile the garments were bleaching in the wholesome sun and air, they\ntook their bath, and afterwards sat down to the midday meal. When that\nwas ended, they threw off their veils, and stood up to play at ball.\n\nIt was a pretty and graceful sight; they were all comely maidens,\nglowing with youth and health. Their sport was accompanied by dance\nand song, and as they chased the flying ball, keeping time with hand\nand foot and voice, they seemed like a choir of mountain nymphs, led\nby Artemis, when she goes forth to the chase, in the wild valleys of\nArcady or Laced\u00e6mon. Tallest and fairest of them all was Nausica\u00e4, who\nled the sport, moving like a queen among her vassals.\n\nPresently they grew tired of their sport, and Nausica\u00e4 flung the ball\nfor the last time to one of her handmaids. The girl missed the ball,\nand it fell into the middle of the river, whereupon the whole company\nset up a sharp cry. The sound came to the ears of Odysseus, and woke\nhim from his long slumber. He sat up in his bed of leaves and communed\nwith himself: \"Behold I hear the shrill cry of women, or perhaps of\nthe nymphs who haunt this wild place. Now may I learn of what sort are\nthe natives of this land, whether they be fierce and inhospitable, or\ngentle and kind to strangers.\" Plucking a leafy bough, and holding it\nbefore him to cover himself, he stepped forth from the thicket, and\ncame in sight of that gentle company. Grim and dreadful he looked,\nlike a hungry lion, buffeted by rain and wind, who goes forth in a\ntempest to seek his prey; for he was haggard with long fasting, and\nsore disfigured by his battle with the sea; his eyes glared with\nfamine, and his hair and beard hung ragged and unkempt about his face.\nAt this fearful apparition the maidens fled shrieking along the river\nbank, all but Nausica\u00e4, who stood her ground, and gazed fearlessly,\nthough in wonder, while Odysseus came slowly forward. When he was\nstill some way off he stopped, fearing to offend her delicacy if he\ncame nearer. Then with a gesture of entreaty he began to speak, and\nNausica\u00e4 knew at once that it was no common man who stood before her.\n\n\"Have pity on me, O queen!\" he began, in soft and insinuating tones.\n\"Art thou a goddess, or a mortal woman? If thou art a goddess, thou\nseemest to me most like to Artemis, daughter of great Zeus, both in\nface, and in stature, and in form. But if thou art mortal, then thrice\nblessed are thy father and mother, and thrice blessed thy brethren,\nand their spirits are refreshed because of thee, when thou goest, a\nvery rose of beauty, to the dance. Happy the man who wins thee for his\nbride! Never yet have I seen the like of thee among all the children\nof men. Only once have I beheld aught to compare unto thee, a young\npalm-tree which I saw growing tall and straight by the altar of Apollo\nat Delos. I saw it, and was amazed, for it was wondrous fair; and even\nso is my soul filled with wonder and dread when I look upon thy face,\nso that I am afraid to draw near unto thee, though sore is my need.\nYesterday I was flung naked on thy coast, after a voyage of twenty\ndays. Many things have I suffered, and more, I ween, remains for me in\nstore; for I am a man of many woes. Have compassion on me, dread lady!\nI am thy suppliant, and to thee first I address my prayer. Show me the\nway to the city, and give me a cloth to wrap round me, that I may go\namong the people without shame. And may the gods give thee all,\nwhatsoever thy heart desireth, a husband and a home, and happy wedded\nlove, shedding warmth in thine house, and a strong defence against all\nills from without, but above all a sacred treasure in thy husband's\nheart, and in thine.\"\n\n\"Whatever be thy misfortunes,\" answered Nausica\u00e4, \"I am sure they are\nnot the fruit of thine own folly or wickedness. And since thou art\ncome as a suppliant to this land of ours, thou shalt want nothing,\nwhether it be raiment, or aught else that befits thy state. I will\nshow thee our city, and tell thee the name of the people. Know that\nthou hast come to the country of the Ph\u00e6acians, whose ruler and king\nis Alcinous, and I am his daughter.\"\n\nThen she called to her handmaids, who were looking on, half\nfrightened, half curious, from behind rocks and trees, a long way off,\nready to resume their flight at the slightest alarm: \"Come hither, and\nfear not the man; neither he nor any other shall ever come to this\nland with thoughts of harm; for we are very dear to the immortal gods.\nFar away we dwell amidst the rolling seas, remote from the haunts of\nmen. But this is some hapless wanderer, driven by chance to our\nshores, and we must cherish him, for from Zeus come all strangers and\nbeggars, and a little gift is a great thing to them. Take the stranger\nto a sheltered place, where he may wash and dress him, and give him\nwherewithal to clothe himself, and after that, meat and drink.\"\n\nWhen they heard the words of their mistress the girls came stealing\ntimidly back, one by one. And they gave Odysseus clean raiment, and\nwhen he had washed and clothed himself, he came back to the place\nwhere Nausica\u00e4 was waiting. Wonderful was the change which had been\nmade in his appearance by the refreshing bath and fitting apparel.\nInstead of the squalid, battered wretch who had begged for countenance\nand shelter, Nausica\u00e4 saw before her a stalwart, stately man,\nbroad-shouldered, and deep of chest, with dark clustering hair and\nbeard, like the curling hyacinth, and an air of majesty and command.\n\n\"Hear me, friends,\" whispered Nausica\u00e4, as she saw him coming,\n\"methinks some god hath wrought a miracle on this man, who but now was\nso hideous to behold. Would that we might prevail with him to make his\nabode among us! She would be a proud maiden who should wed with such\nas him. Now give the stranger food and drink.\" And they did so, and\nOdysseus ate and drank with keen appetite, having tasted nothing for\nmany days. While he was eating, the maidens folded the garments and\nplaced them in the waggon, and when he had finished, Nausica\u00e4 mounted\nthe waggon, and bidding him and the handmaids follow on foot started\nthe mules and drove slowly towards the city. When they reached the\ncultivated lands outside the walls she drew up, and addressed Odysseus\nthus: \"Stranger, I may not go with thee further, for I fear the\nenvious tongues of the citizens, who will point the finger at us and\nsay: 'See what a tall and handsome stranger Nausica\u00e4 hath brought with\nher!--some seafaring man whom she hath brought with her to be her\nhusband, since she despises the men of her own nation.' And this will\nbe a reproach unto me. Therefore wait thou awhile, and do as I bid\nthee. Not far from here is a temple and grove of Athene, a fair\ncoppice of poplar-trees, and a spring of clear water. Go thou thither,\nand wait until we have time to reach my father's house, then rise and\ngo into the city and inquire for the dwelling of Alcinous. A little\nchild could show thee the way, for there is none like it in all the\ncity.\"\n\n[Illustration: Odysseus and Nausica\u00e4]\n\nSo saying, Nausica\u00e4 drove on, leaving Odysseus where he was. He soon\nfound the temple, and going in knelt down and prayed to the goddess to\ncontinue her favour. When he thought that Nausica\u00e4 had had time to\nreach home, he rose and went into the city. The road lay along a\nnarrow causeway, which connected the city with the mainland, and on\neither side was a sheltered haven, with ships drawn up on the beach.\nPassing through the gates he came next to the place of assembly, in\nfront of a temple of Poseidon, with a circle of massive stones bedded\ndeeply in the earth. Wherever he looked he saw signs of a busy\nseafaring people--masts, and oars, and great coils of rope--and his\nears were filled with the sound of saw and hammer from the\nshipwrights' yards.\n\nII\n\nAs he stood thus gazing about him, he saw a young maiden coming\ntowards him, carrying a pitcher. He inquired of her the way to the\nhouse of Alcinous, and she bade him follow her, as she was going that\nway. \"My father's house,\" she said, \"is close to the house which thou\nseekest. But thou art a stranger, I perceive, and not of this land;\nwalk therefore warily, and regard no man, for the Ph\u00e6acians love not\nthe face of the stranger, nor are they given to hospitality. Their\nhome is the deep, and their ships are as swift as a bird--swift as a\nthought--for they are the favourites of Poseidon.\"\n\nSo saying, the maiden led the way swiftly, and Odysseus followed,\nkeeping close behind. He remarked with wonder that though the streets\nwere full of people, so that they had to walk carefully, and thread\ntheir way through the crowd, none seemed to notice him or his\ncompanion, or gave any sign of being conscious of their presence. The\ntruth was that the supposed maiden was none other than his patron\ngoddess Athene, who so ordered it that he was invisible to all eyes\nbut hers.\n\nAs they went, his companion entertained him with an account of the\nfamily history of the Ph\u00e6acian king, Alcinous, whose father,\nNausithous, was the son of Poseidon. Alcinous married Arete, who was\nrelated to him by blood, and was honoured exceedingly by her husband\nand by all the Ph\u00e6acians. \"She is the idol of her household,\"\ncontinued the maiden, \"and all eyes follow her with love and reverence\nwhen she goes through the town. So high is her character that even men\nconsult her in their differences, and defer to her judgment. If thou\ncanst enlist her on thy side, thou wilt soon obtain the safe conduct\nwhich thou desirest, and reach thy home in safety and honour.\"\n\nThey had now reached a large enclosed piece of land, surrounded by a\ntall fence, above which appeared the boughs of goodly trees, laden\nwith their burden of fruit. \"Here is the garden of Alcinous,\"\nwhispered the maiden, \"and yonder is the gate. Enter boldly in, and\nseek out the queen, who is now sitting at meat with her husband's\nguests. Make thy petition to her, for if her heart incline unto thee\nall will be well.\"\n\nWith that word she vanished from his sight, and left him standing at\nthe gates of Alcinous. Wondering greatly he entered the garden, and\ngazed about him. So fair a sight had never met his eyes. Fruit-trees\nwithout number stood ranged in ordered rows, pear-trees, and\npomegranates, and rosy apples, the luscious fig, and olives in their\nbloom. Their fruit never failed, summer or winter, all the year round.\nThere blows the warm west wind without ceasing, nursing the tender\nblossom, and mellowing the swelling fruit. He saw pears and figs\nhanging on the trees in every stage of growth. Another part of the\nenclosure was set apart for the cultivation of the vine; and here also\nthe same wonder was to be seen, springtime and summer dancing\nhand-in-hand, and yellow autumn treading close in their footsteps.\nSide by side hung the ripe, purple cluster, the crude grape just\nturning from green to red, and tiny green bunches lately formed from\nthe blossom. There the labour of the vintagers never ceased, and the\nwinepress overflowed without end.\n\nBetween the rows of fruit-trees were garden-beds, in which grew all\nmanner of flowers and useful herbs; and the whole was watered by a\nperennial stream, divided into channels which brought the water to\nevery part of the garden.\n\nTurning with a sigh from that paradise of colour and perfume, Odysseus\npassed on to the house, and stood for a while, scanning that stately\nstructure. His eyes were almost blinded by the light which flashed\nfrom the outer walls, which were built of solid brass, with a coping\nof blue steel. The doors were of gold, with silver lintel and\ndoorposts, and brazen threshold. Then he entered the hall, still\nunseen of all eyes; and here new wonders awaited him. Within the\ndoorway on either side sat dogs wrought in silver and gold, living\ncreatures, that know neither age nor death, which Heph\u00e6stus, the\ndivine artificer, made, in the wisdom of his heart, to guard the house\nof the prince Alcinous day and night. At intervals stood figures of\nyouths fashioned in gold, with torches in their hands, which at\nnight-time shed a blaze of light throughout the hall. And all round\nthe walls were set rows of seats, covered with richly woven cloths,\nthe work of women's hands. There sat the noble chieftains of Ph\u00e6acia,\nfeasting on the bounty of their king.\n\nFar within, visible through a wide-opened door, was seen another\nchamber, where a troop of domestics were busy at their tasks. Some\nwere grinding the yellow grain in hand-mills, others were walking to\nand fro at the loom, and others sat plying distaff and spindle,\nnodding their heads like poplars waving in the wind. Very choice was\nthe fabric woven in that chamber, for the women of Ph\u00e6acia were famed\nbeyond all others for their skill in weaving, even as the men\nsurpassed all the world in seamanship.\n\nSuch were the glories of the house of Alcinous, and when Odysseus had\ngazed his fill he began to think of the purpose for which he had come.\nThe feasters were just pouring a libation to Hermes, to be followed by\na parting cup, before they went home. At that very moment their eyes\nwere opened, and they saw Odysseus kneeling at the feet of Arete, and\nheard him utter these words:\n\n\"Great queen, daughter of a race divine, behold me, a toil-worn\nwanderer, who hath come hither to implore thy grace. Intercede for me,\nI pray thee, with thy husband, that he may send me speedily to my\nnative land: and may it be well with thee, and with all this fair\ncompany, and with the children who come after thee.\"\n\nThereupon he sat down by the hearth in the ashes near the fire; and\nfor awhile not a word was spoken, but all sat gazing at him in wonder.\nAt last an aged Ph\u00e6acian broke the silence, and said, looking at\nAlcinous: \"My prince, it becomes thee not to suffer this stranger to\nsit on the ground in the ashes. Behold, we are all waiting for thee to\nspeak and declare thy will. Give this poor man thy hand, and set him\non a seat, that he may know that his prayer is granted. And let them\ngive him to eat, and fill a bowl for a libation to Zeus, in whose care\nare all suppliants.\"\n\nAlcinous rose in response to the words of the elder, who was famed\namong the Ph\u00e6acians for his eloquence and wisdom, and taking Odysseus\nby the hand raised him from his abject posture, and seated him by his\nside. Food and drink were placed before him, and while he was eating,\nAlcinous ordered a bowl to be filled for a libation to Zeus, the god\nof hospitality. The wine was served out to the guests, the libations\nwere poured, and then Alcinous began to speak again, unfolding his\npurpose towards Odysseus.\n\n\"Here me, ye princes of Ph\u00e6acia. Go ye now to your rest, and to-morrow\nwe will call an assembly of all the elders, and make a great feast and\nsacrifice, and after that we will take counsel how we may best send\nthe stranger on his way. Safe and sound we will bring him to his\nnative land, but after that he must take up his portion, according as\nthe Fates have ordained for him, and spun the thread of his life,\nrough or smooth, from the hour when his mother bare him. I speak as\nsupposing our guest to be a man; but if he be a god, come down from\nheaven, then I fear that the gods are devising some snare against us.\nFor never has it been their wont to appear among us in disguise, but\nat sacrifice and at feast they freely consort with us in their own\nshape, seeing that we are of their own kin.\"\n\n\"Alcinous,\" answered Odysseus, \"let not this fear trouble thee. I am\nno god, as thou mayest see right well. If ye know any man conspicuous\nfor the burden of sorrow which he bears, ye may learn my lot from his.\nBut none, methinks, can equal the sum of what I have endured by the\nordinance of heaven. Care sits by my side day and night, but within me\nis a monitor whose voice I must obey, even my hungry belly, that calls\naloud to be filled, and will not let me alone to chew the cud of\nbitter thought. Shameless he is, and clamorous exceedingly. Therefore\nlet me sup and question me no further to-night; but rouse thee betimes\nto-morrow, and send me with all speed to my native land. Let me once\nsee my possessions, and my household, and my stately home, and then I\nwill close mine eyes in peace.\"\n\nA murmur of approval went round the hall as Odysseus ended his speech.\nOne by one the guests took leave of Alcinous, and he and his hosts sat\nawhile conversing together, while the servants were removing the\nremnants of the feast, and setting the house in order for the night.\nArete was the first to speak, for she recognised the garments which\nOdysseus was wearing as the work of her own hands. \"Friend,\" said she,\n\"let me ask thee one question. How camest thou by this raiment? For\nsurely thou hast not brought it with thee in thy voyage across the\ndeep. Say who thou art and whence thou comest.\"\n\nThus challenged Odysseus told her all the story of his shipwreck on\nthe island of Calypso, of his long sojourn there, of his voyage on the\nraft, his second shipwreck, and his landing on the coast of Ph\u00e6acia.\nConcluding he touched feelingly on his meeting with Nausica\u00e4, and the\nkindness, courtesy, and modesty of her behaviour. \"Never saw I such\ngrace and prudence,\" he added, \"in one so young and so lovely.\"\n\n\"Yet in this she did not well,\" replied Alcinous, \"that she brought\nthee not straightway to this house, but suffered thee to find thy way\nalone.\"\n\n\"Nay, blame her not,\" answered Odysseus, \"she bade me come hither with\nherself and the maidens, but I feared to offend thee, and chose to\ncome alone.\"\n\n\"Think not that I am so hasty, or given to causeless anger,\" said\nAlcinous; \"excess in all things is evil.\"[1] Then he looked earnestly\nat Odysseus, and continued, after a pause: \"I would to heaven that thy\nthoughts were as mine; then wouldst thou abide for ever in this land,\nand take my daughter to wife, and I would give thee house and lands.\nBut I see that thou art steadfastly purposed to leave us; and none\nshall detain thee against thy will. To-morrow thou shalt go. I will\nappoint a ship and a crew, and they shall bear thee sleeping to thine\nown land, yea though it be more distant than far Euboea, which lies,\nas I am told, in the uttermost parts of the earth. Yet the Ph\u00e6acians\nwent thither in their ships, and returned on the same day. They have\nno equals, as thou shalt soon learn, in seamanship, and no ships in\nall the world are like mine.\"\n\n[Footnote 1: _Nothing too much_, the corner-stone of Greek morality.]\n\nAfter some further talk they parted for the night, and Odysseus, after\nall his hardships, was right glad to lay him down in the soft bed\nprepared for him in the gallery before the house. But before he closed\nhis eyes he muttered a prayer to Zeus that Alcinous might abide by his\npromise, and send him safely home.\n\nIII\n\nNext day was appointed for a great feast in the palace of Alcinous, to\nwhich all the chief men of Ph\u00e6acia were invited, and when Odysseus\nreturned to the house, after some hours spent in a visit to the town,\nhefound the courts and galleries thronged with a great company. The\npreparations for the banquet were on a heroic scale: twelve sheep,\neight fat swine, and two oxen, the choicest of the herd, were\nslaughtered, and a goodly row of casks, filled with the finest\nvintages, gave further token that Alcinous was no niggardly host.\n\n\"Come,\" said Alcinous, meeting Odysseus at the gate. \"The guests are\nseated, and all is ready. Trouble not thyself as to the manner of thy\nhome-coming; that is cared for already, and the ship lies at her\nmoorings. But to-day is a day of good cheer, when thou shalt learn how\ngay and joyous a life the Ph\u00e6acians live.\"\n\nAs he spoke, they entered the banquet hall, and Odysseus sat down by\nthe side of Alcinous. Rich and dainty was the fare, and many times the\ngreat wine-bowls were filled and emptied; for the Ph\u00e6acians were a\nluxurious race, much given to the pleasures of the table. Among the\nguests Odysseus was especially struck by one venerable figure, who sat\nby himself against a pillar, on which hung a harp within reach of his\nhands. Odysseus noticed that he ate slowly and deliberately, and\nseemed to feel for the cup when he wished to drink, \"It is Demodocus,\nthe blind harper,\" whispered Alcinous. \"We shall presently have a\ntaste of his quality. He is a rare minstrel.\"\n\nAccordingly, when the last course was removed, the harp was placed in\nthe singer's hands, and after striking a deep chord he began to sing,\nchoosing for his theme a famous tale of Troy, which told how Achilles\nand Odysseus quarrelled at a banquet, and reviled each other with\nbitter words, and how Agamemnon rejoiced in spirit because of the\nstrife; for he had heard an oracle from Apollo, foretelling that when\nthe noblest of the Greeks fell out Troy's end would be near at hand.\n\nOdysseus listened, and a flood of emotion filled his mind, so sad were\nthe memories recalled by the minstrel's lay. Of all his gallant peers,\nfor ten years his companions in many a joyful feast, and many a high\nadventure, how many were left? And he, among the last of the\nsurvivors, was now growing old, after twenty years of war and\nwandering, far from his wife and home. He was now, indeed, on the eve\nof his return; but at what a price had it been won! And who could tell\nwhat heavy trials awaited him when once more he set foot on his native\nsoil? Was it not but too probable that he would find his house made\ndesolate, Telemachus dead, and Penelope wedded to another?\n\nOverpowered by these gloomy forebodings, he covered his face, and wept\naloud. When Demodocus paused in his singing he wiped away his tears,\nand poured a drink-offering from his cup; but every time the minstrel\nresumed his lay a new fit of weeping succeeded. At last, Alcinous, who\nhad hitherto been totally absorbed in that rare minstrelsy, observed\nhis guest's emotion, and partly divining the cause came to his relief.\n\"How say ye, fair sirs?\" he said, rising and addressing the company.\n\"Shall we go forth for awhile, and show the stranger that we have\nother and manlier pastimes, now that we have eaten and drunken, and\ncheered our souls with song? Let him not say of us when he goes home\nthat we sit all day by the wine-cup, but let him learn that the\nPh\u00e6acians surpass all mankind in boxing, and in wrestling, and in\nleaping, and in the speed of their feet.\"\n\nSo saying he rose from his seat and led the way to the place of\nassembly. Crowds soon flocked to see the friendly trial of strength\nand skill. The first event was the foot race, and this was followed by\nmatches of wrestling, boxing, leaping, and throwing the weight.\nOdysseus stood watching the Ph\u00e6acians at their sports, and thinking of\nthe mighty feats which he had witnessed and shared at the funeral\ngames of Patroclus. Presently he felt a hand on his shoulder, and\nheard himself challenged by a young Ph\u00e6acian, whose name was Euryalus,\nin these terms: \"Why so gloomy, father? Away with care! All is ready\nfor thy departure, and thou shalt soon be home again. But come, give\nus a proof of thy manhood, if thou knowest aught of games of skill.\nThou seemest a stout fellow, and I doubt not that thou wilt acquit\nthee well.\"\n\n\"Friend,\" answered Odysseus, \"mock me not. Thou seest how broken I am,\nand worn by my long battle with the sea; and care sits heavy on my\nheart, forbidding me to think of the things which thou namest.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Euryalus, with a scornful laugh, \"I see that I was\nmistaken in thee. Thou art plainly no athlete, but some cunning\nmerchant, with thy head full of thy cargo, and fingers only skilled in\ncounting thy gains.\"\n\nThen Odysseus bent his brows, and answered with a stern look: \"Friend,\nthou art over-saucy of thy tongue. But so it ever is; the gods\ndispense their gifts with sparing hand, and give not all excellence to\nthe same man. One man is mean of aspect, but heaven's grace descends\nupon his lips, so that men look upon him with delight while he\ndiscourses smoothly with a winning modesty. He is the observed of all\nobservers, and when he walks through the town all eyes follow him as\nif he were a god. Another again is glorious, like a very god, in the\nsplendour of his face and form, but no grace attends upon his speech.\nEven so thou art conspicuous for thy beauty, as though the hand of a\ngod had fashioned thee, but in understanding thou art naught. Thou\nhast stung me by thy unseemly words; I am not ignorant of manly\nsports, as thou sayest, but I tell thee that I was among the foremost\nas long as I trusted in my youth and in the might of my hands. But now\nI am sore spent with woe and pain, for many things have I suffered in\nbattles by land, and buffeting with the sea. Nevertheless, broken as I\nam, I will give proof of my strength, for thou hast provoked me\nbitterly by thy wanton words.\"\n\nThereupon, without waiting to throw off his cloak, he sprang into the\narena, and caught up a massy disc of iron, far heavier than those with\nwhich the Ph\u00e6acians had been throwing. Poising it lightly, with one\nhand he flung it, as one who flings a ball. The Ph\u00e6acians sank back in\ndismay as they saw the huge mass flying high over their heads, and\nwhen it fell all rushed to the spot to mark the distance. There it\nlay, far beyond the longest cast of the native athletes, and Odysseus\npointed to it, and said: \"Reach that mark, my young masters, if ye\ncan! And if any among you have a mind to try a match with me in boxing\nor in wrestling, or in the foot race, they shall have their will; only\nwith the sons of Alcinous I will not strive, for he is my host, and it\nwere not fitting or prudent to challenge them. Whatever a man can do\nwith his hands I can do: I can send an arrow sure and strong, and\nstrike down my foe, and herein can no archer surpass me, save one\nonly, Philoctetes, who bare the bow of Hercules; and I can fling a\njavelin farther than another man can shoot an arrow. Only in speed of\nfoot I fear that some of you may surpass me; for my knees are yet weak\nfrom long fasting and fighting with the waves.\"\n\nNot one of the Ph\u00e6acians took up the challenge, but all sat mute,\ngazing in wonder and awe at this strange man, who had just given such\nsignal proof of the power of his arm. At last Alcinous answered and\nsaid: \"Stranger, none here can take thy words amiss, for, as thou\nsayest, thou hast been bitterly provoked. But hear me now in turn, and\npush not thy quarrel further, but rest satisfied with the proof of thy\nprowess which thou hast given. I will speak to thee frankly, that thou\nmayest know what manner of men the Ph\u00e6acians are. We are not mighty\nmen of valour, like thee, yet we too have our own peculiar excellence.\nWe are good runners, and none can approach us in all that belongs to\nthe mariner's art. But at home we live softly, loving the banquet, and\nmusic and dancing, clean raiment, warm baths, and long repose.\" Then\nturning to his attendants he added: \"Go, some of you, and bring hither\nthe harper Demodocus, and clear a space for the dancers, that our\nguest may see something of the native sports of Ph\u00e6acia.\"\n\nThen those whose business it was chose a fair level space for the\ndance, and when Demodocus arrived he took his harp and struck up a\nlively measure. A fair troop of boys stood in a circle around him, and\nthe dance began. Alcinous had not overrated the skill of his people in\nthis graceful pastime, and Odysseus was filled with wonder as he\nwatched the intricate yet ordered movements of the youthful troop.\n\nWhen the dance was ended, Demodocus sang a soft lay of love, and after\nthat the two most skilful dancers, one of whom was Laodamas, a son of\nAlcinous, stood up to dance a reel together. One of them held a\ncrimson ball, and, keeping time to the music flung it high into the\nair; while the other leaped high from the ground, and caught the ball\nas it fell. Then they flung the ball with lightning rapidity from hand\nto hand, so that it seemed a mere streak of crimson shooting backward\nand forward; and all the time the dance went gaily on, while the whole\ncompany of the Ph\u00e6acians kept up a merry din, beating time to the\nmusic with their feet.\n\n\"Of a truth,\" said Odysseus, addressing Alcinous, \"thou hast not\nboasted for naught; never saw I such dancing in all my long travels.\"\nA proud man was Alcinous to hear such praise from such a man, and he\nwas not slow to testify his gratitude. \"Hear me,\" he said, \"ye princes\nof Ph\u00e6acia! Methinks our guest is a man of exceeding shrewd wit. Let\nus bestow on him a parting gift, that he may remember us, and rejoice\nin spirit when he thinks of his sojourn in Ph\u00e6acia. Thirteen there\nare, of whom I am one, who sit in high places, and are notable men in\nthe land; let each of us give him a change of raiment and a talent of\ngold. And Euryalus shall crave pardon of him for his ill-chosen words,\nand appease him with a gift.\"\n\nThe generous proposal was well received, and each of the twelve nobles\nsent his body-servant to fetch the gifts. Euryalus also was prompt to\nmake his peace with Odysseus. He presented him with a fine sword of\ntempered bronze, with silver hilt, and scabbard of ivory. \"Behold my\npeace-offering,\" he said, \"and take my goodwill with the gift. Forget\nmy foolish words, and think of me kindly when thou art safe among\nthine own people.\"\n\nOdysseus acknowledged the courtesy of Euryalus in becoming terms, and\nthen the whole company rose and went back to the palace of Alcinous,\nwhere they found the gifts for Odysseus all set in order against his\ndeparture. Then Alcinous brought a golden goblet, beautifully\nfashioned, and richly chased, and bade Arete bring a coffer to hold\nthe gifts. The coffer was displayed, and was in itself a gift of no\nmean value, being a choice piece of work.\n\n\"Now bid thy handmaids prepare a bath for our guest,\" said Alcinous to\nhis wife, and \"Receive this as a memorial of me,\" he added, placing\nthe goblet in Odysseus' hands, \"that thou mayest remember me all the\ndays of thy life, when thou pourest libations to Zeus and the other\ndeathless gods.\"\n\nArete gave the order as required, and while the bath was preparing she\narranged all the gifts in the coffer. Then closing the lid she said to\nOdysseus: \"Make all fast with thine own hands, that none may meddle\nwith thy goods as thou liest asleep on thy passage across the sea.\"\nOdysseus made fast the cord, securing it with an intricate and cunning\nknot, which he had learnt from the great sorceress Circe; and when he\nhad finished he was summoned by the eldest of the handmaids to the\nbath. When he had bathed and put on fresh raiment he came back to the\ndining-hall; and as he entered he saw Nausica\u00e4 leaning against a\npillar. Sweet was the maiden's face, and kind her eyes, as she gazed\nwith innocent admiration on the stately figure of her father's guest.\n\"Farewell, my friend,\" said she, \"and when thou arrivest home think\nsometimes of her to whom thou owest thy life.\"\n\n\"Fair daughter of Alcinous,\" answered Odysseus, \"if that day ever\ncomes--if I ever see my home again, by favour of Zeus, the lord of\nHera--be assured that I shall remember thee in my prayers, as long as\nthis life which thou hast given me shall last.\" And so he parted from\nthe maiden, and she went back to her mother's bower.\n\nOdysseus again received a place of honour by the side of Alcinous, and\na goodly portion of meat was set before him. Looking round the circle\nof guests he saw Demodocus, the blind harper, sitting in their midst,\nand wishing to show him honour, he cut off a choice piece from the\nflesh which had been set before him, and bade a servant carry it to\nthe bard, and greet him in the giver's name. The servant did as he was\nbidden, and Demodocus received the portion of honour with becoming\ngratitude.\n\nWhen the banquet was drawing towards its close Odysseus approached the\nminstrel, and after praising his former lay, which told of the\ndisastrous homeward voyage of the Greeks, he begged him to sing the\nLay of the Wooden Horse, the device by which Troy was taken. Demodocus\ncomplied, and taking his harp began to chant that famous lay, which\ntold how the Greeks burnt their tents and sailed away, leaving the\nwooden monster behind them, how the Trojans dragged the horse into the\ncity, and how the fatal engine sent forth its burden of armed men in\nthe night. The name of Odysseus, the arch-plotter, occurred again and\nagain as the tale went on; and once more Odysseus was moved to tears\nby the memories which the words of the bard awakened.\n\nAlcinous observed his emotion, and called to Demodocus to cease his\nsong. \"We vex our guest,\" he said, \"for whose sake we are gathered\nhere. Doubtless the minstrel has touched some hidden spring of sorrow.\nBut come now,\" he continued, addressing Odysseus, \"we have honoured\nthee exceedingly, and given thee of our best. Wilt thou not repay us\nby telling something of thyself? Let us hear thy name, and say of what\nland and of what city thou art, that our ships may know whither to\nsteer their course. For know that we mariners of Ph\u00e6acia need no\npilots nor rudders, but our ships by their own instinct take us to\nwhatsoever place we would visit, gliding like phantoms, invisible,\nswift as thought. Nor has any vessel from our ports ever suffered\nshipwreck or harm.\n\n\"Thou likewise hast been a great traveller, and seen many lands and\nnations, both such as are wild and fierce and such as are gentle and\nof godly mind. Tell us then the tale of thy wanderings, and say why\nthou weepest ever at the name of Troy.\"\n\nAll the guests bent forward with eager faces, and strained their ears\nto catch Odysseus' answer; for there was something mysterious about\nthis strange guest, something which marked him as a man of no common\nstamp, and their curiosity, which had hitherto been held in check by\nthe laws of courtesy, was now set free from all restraint by the frank\nquestion of Alcinous.\n\n\"Illustrious prince,\" answered Odysseus, after a moment's pause,\n\"methinks it were best to sit silent and listen to the sweet voice of\nthe harper; for what better thing has life to offer than a full cup\nand brave minstrelsy heard at the quiet hour of eventide? But if thou\nmust needs hear a tale of sorrow it is not for me to deny thee. First\nof all I will tell thee my name. I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, and my\nname is in all men's mouths because of my deep wit and manifold wiles,\nyea, the renown thereof reaches even unto heaven. My home is the sunny\nisle of Ithaca, last in a line of islands lying in the western sea. It\nis a rugged land, but a nurse of gallant sons; and sweet, ah! very\nsweet, is the name of home. Never hath my heart been turned from that\ndear spot, no, not by all the loveliness of Calypso, nor by all the\nwitchery of Circe, but ever I remained faithful to the one lodestar of\nmy life.\"\n\nHere Odysseus began the wondrous story of his wanderings, which kept\nhis hearers spellbound until far into the night.\n\n\n\n\nThe Wanderings of Odysseus\n\n\nI\n\nAfter leaving Troy, Odysseus first sailed to the coast of Thrace, and\ncollected a rich booty in a sudden raid on the district. But while his\nmen lingered to enjoy the first-fruits of their spoil, the wild tribes\nof the neighbourhood rallied their forces, and falling upon the\ninvaders, while they were engaged in a drunken revel, drove them with\ngreat slaughter to their ships. No sooner had they put to sea than a\nwild tempest came down upon them from the north, and drove them to\nseek shelter again on the mainland, where they lay for two days and\nnights in constant dread of another attack from the injured Thracians.\nOn the third day they set sail again and got as far as Malea, the\nsouthernmost headland of Greece. Here they were again driven from\ntheir course, and after nine days' tossing on the waves they reached\nthe land of the Lotus-Eaters.\n\nWhen his men had refreshed themselves, Odysseus sent three of their\nnumber to explore the country and learn the manners of the\ninhabitants. Presently these three came to the dwellings of the\nLotus-Eaters, who received them kindly and gave them to eat of the\nlotus-plant. With the first taste of that magic food the men forgot\nthe purpose for which they had been sent, forgot their friends and\ntheir home, and had no desire left in life but to remain there all\ntheir days and feast with the Lotus-Eaters. In this state they were\nfound by Odysseus, who compelled them by force, though they wept and\ncomplained bitterly, to return to their ships. There he bound them\nfast under the benches, and bade the rest take to their oars and fly\nfrom that seductive clime, lest others should fall under the same\nfatal spell.\n\nII\n\nThence they came to the land of the Cyclopes, a rude and monstrous\ntribe, but favoured of the immortal gods, by whose bounty they live.\nThey toil not, neither do they sow, nor till the ground, but the earth\nof herself brings forth for them a bountiful living, wheat and barley,\nand huge swelling clusters of the grape. Naught know they of law or\ncivil life, but each lives in his cave on the wild mountain-side,\ndwelling apart, careless of his neighbours, with his wife and\nchildren.\n\nIt was a dark, cloudy night, and a thick mist overspread the sea, when\nsuddenly Odysseus heard the booming of breakers on a rocky shore.\nBefore an order could be given, or any measure taken for the safety of\nthe ships, the little fleet was caught by a strong landward current,\nand whirled pell-mell through a narrow passage between the cliffs into\na land-locked harbour. Drawing their breath with relief at their\nwonderful escape, they beached their vessels on the level sand and lay\ndown to wait for the day.\n\nIn the morning they found that they had been driven to the landward\nshore of a long island, which formed a natural breakwater to a\nspacious bay, with a narrow entrance at either end. The island was\nthickly covered with woods, giving shelter to a multitude of wild\ngoats, its only inhabitants. For the Cyclopes have no ships, so that\nthe goats were left in undisturbed possession, though the place was\nwell suited for human habitation, with a deep, rich soil, and\nplentiful springs of water.\n\nThe first care of Odysseus was to supply the crews of his vessels,\nwhich were twelve in number, with fresh meat. Armed with bows and\nspears, he and a picked body of men scoured the woods in search of\ngame. They soon obtained a plentiful booty, and nine goats were\nassigned to each vessel, with ten for that of Odysseus. So all that\nday till the setting of the sun they sat and feasted on fat venison\nand drank of the wine which they had taken in their raid on the\nThracians.\n\nEarly next morning Odysseus manned his own galley, and set forth to\nexplore the mainland, leaving the rest of the crews to await his\nreturn on the island. As they drew near the opposite shore of the bay,\nthe mariners came in view of a gigantic cavern overshadowed by\nlaurel-trees. Round the front of the cavern was a wide court-yard\nrudely fenced with huge blocks of stone and unhewn trunks of trees.\n\nHaving moored his vessel in a sheltered place, Odysseus chose twelve\nof his men to accompany him on his perilous adventure, and charging\nthe others to keep close, and not stir from the ship, he prepared for\nhis visit to the Cyclops, who dwelt apart from his brethren in the\ncavern. Amongst the spoils obtained in Thrace was a small store of\npeculiarly rich and generous wine, which had been given him by a\npriest of Apollo whom he had protected, with his wife and child, while\nhis men were pillaging the town. Twelve jars of this precious vintage\nthe priest brought forth from a secret hiding-place, known only to\nhimself and his wife and one trusty servant. So potent was the wine\nthat it needed but one measure of it to twenty of water to make a\nfragrant and comfortable drink, from which few could refrain. Odysseus\nnow filled a great goatskin bottle with this wine, and carried it with\nhim. And well it was for him that he did so.\n\nDuring the day the Cyclops was abroad, watching his flocks as they\ngrazed on the mountain pastures; so that when Odysseus and his men\ncame to the cavern, they had ample time to look about them. The\ncourtyard was fenced off into pens, well stocked with ewes and\nshe-goats, with their young--huge beasts, rivalling in stature their\ngigantic shepherd. Within the cavern was a sort of dairy, with great\npiles of cheeses, and vessels brimming with whey.\n\n\"Quick now,\" whispered one of the men to Odysseus. \"Let us take of the\ncheeses, and drive off the best of the lambs and kids to the ship\nbefore the Cyclops returns; for methinks he will give us but sorry\nwelcome if he finds us here.\" \"Nay,\" answered Odysseus, \"I will wait\nfor the master, that I may see him face to face. It may be that he\nwill bestow on me some gift, such as strangers receive from their\nhosts.\" So they remained, and having kindled a fire they prepared\nsavoury meat, and ate of the cheeses which they found in the cave.\nThen they waited, until the lengthening shadows showed that evening\nwas drawing near.\n\nWhile they sat thus, conversing in low tones, and casting fearful\nglances towards the cavern's mouth, all at once they heard a sound\nlike the trampling of many feet, accompanied by loud bleatings, which\nwere answered by the ewes and she-goats in the courtyard. Then a vast\nshadow darkened the cavern's entrance, and in came Polyphemus, driving\nhis flock before him. At the sight of that fearful monster, huge as a\nmountain, with one vast red eye glaring in the middle of his forehead,\nOdysseus and his comrades fled in terror to the darkest corner of the\ncave. The Cyclops bore in one hand a mighty log for his evening fire.\nFlinging it down with a crash that awakened all the echoes of the\ncavern, he closed the entrance with an immense mass of stone, which\nserved as a door. Then he sat down and began to milk the ewes and\nshe-goats. Half of the milk he curdled for cheese, and half he kept\nfor drinking. So when he had strained off the whey, and pressed the\ncurds into wicker-baskets, he kindled a fire, and as the flame blazed\nup, illumining every corner of the cavern, he caught sight of the\nintruders, and with a voice which sounded like the roaring of a\ntorrent cried out: \"Who are ye that have come to the cave of\nPolyphemus, and what would ye have of him?\"\n\nWhen he heard that appalling voice, and looked at that horrible face,\nfitfully lighted up by the blaze of the fire, Odysseus felt his heart\nstand still with terror. Nevertheless he manned himself to answer, and\nspake boldly thus: \"We are Greeks, driven from our course in our\nvoyage from Troy, and brought by the winds and waves to these shores.\nAnd we are they who have served Agamemnon, son of Atreus, whose fame\nnow fills the whole earth; so mighty was the city which he overthrew,\nwith all the host within her. And now we have come to kneel at thy\nfeet and beseech thee of thy favour to bestow on us some gift such as\nstrangers receive. Have pity on us, great and mighty as thou art, and\nforget not that Zeus hath the stranger and the suppliant in his\nkeeping.\"\n\nBut there was no sign of pity or mercy in the Cyclops' face as he made\nanswer: \"Thou art full simple, my friend, or unversed in the ways of\nthis land, if thou thinkest that I and my brethren care aught for Zeus\nor any other god. Nay, we are mightier far than they, and if thou\nseekest aught of me thou must seek it of my favour, and not of my\nfears. But tell me truly, where didst thou moor thy vessel on thy\nlanding? Lies she near at hand, or on a distant part of the coast?\"\n\nOdysseus easily divined the purpose of Polyphemus in putting this\nquestion, and answered accordingly: \"My ship was wrecked on a distant\npart of your coast, dashed all to pieces against the rocks; and I and\nthese twelve escaped by swimming.\"\n\nPolyphemus made no reply, but sprang up and seized two of the men,\ngrasping them easily together in one hand, and dashed their brains out\nagainst the rocky ground. Then he cut them in pieces and made his\nsupper on them. Fearful it was to see him as he ate, crunching up\nflesh and bones and marrow all together, like a ravening lion. When he\nhad devoured the last morsel he took a deep draught of milk, and lay\ndown on the cavern floor among his flocks to sleep.\n\nAs soon as the heavy breathing of Polyphemus showed that he was fast\nasleep, Odysseus crept from his corner, resolved to slay the cannibal\ngiant on the spot. He had already drawn his sword, when a sudden\nthought made him pause. If he killed Polyphemus, how was he to escape\nfrom the cavern? The entrance was blocked by that ponderous stone,\nwhich a hundred men could not have moved; and he and his men must in\nthat case perish miserably of hunger and thirst. Restrained by this\nreflection, he put up his sword, and went back to his companions to\nwait for day.\n\nPolyphemus rose early, and after milking his flocks he laid hold of\ntwo more of the miserable captives, butchered them in the same manner,\nand made his breakfast on their warm, quivering bodies. Then he drove\nforth his sheep and goats, pushing aside the door of rock, and set it\nback in its place, as a man sets the lid on a quiver. They heard his\nwild cries, as he called to his flocks, and their loud bleatings as he\ndrove them out to pasture; then the sounds grew fainter and fainter,\nand silence settled on the vast, shadowy cave.\n\nForthwith Odysseus began to devise means to escape from that murderous\nden, and avenge the slaughter of his friends. As he peered about in\nthe twilight, he caught sight of a mighty stake of green olive-wood,\ntall and stout as the mast of a twenty-oared galley,[1] which had been\ncut by the Cyclops for a staff, and laid aside to season. Odysseus cut\noff about a fathom's length, and with the help of his comrades made it\nround and smooth, and tapered it off at one end to a point. Then he\nhardened the sharp end in the fire, and when it was ready he hid the\nrude weapon away under a pile of refuse. Of the twelve who had\nfollowed him from the ship, there only remained eight; four of these\nwere chosen by lot to aid him in his plan of vengeance; and Odysseus\nnoted with satisfaction that they were the stoutest and bravest of the\ncompany. All being now ready, they sat down to wait for the return of\nPolyphemus.\n\n[Footnote 1: Imitated, with characteristic amplification, by Milton,\n\"Paradise Lost,\" i. 292 (Satan's spear).]\n\nThe setting sun was pouring his level rays through the chinks of the\ndoorway when they heard the ponderous tread of the Cyclops\napproaching. This time he drove the whole of his flocks into the cave,\nleaving the courtyard empty. Having milked the herd, he laid hands on\ntwo of Odysseus' comrades, and slaughtered and devoured them as\nbefore. The moment had now come for Odysseus to carry out his design.\nSo he filled a wooden bowl with unmixed wine, and drawing near to\nPolyphemus addressed him thus:\n\n\"Take, Polyphemus, and drink of this wine, now that thou hast eaten of\nhuman flesh. I warrant that thou hast never tasted such a choice\nvintage as this, and I brought it as a gift to thy divinity, that thou\nmightest have pity, and let me go in peace. Little did I dream to find\nthee so cruel and so wild. Who in all the world will ever draw near to\nthee again, after the hideous deeds which thou hast wrought?\"\n\nPolyphemus took the cup and drained it to the bottom. Then he rolled\nhis great eye with ecstasy, as the last drop trickled down his\nmonstrous gullet, and holding out the cup said with a sort of growling\ngood humour: \"Give me to drink again, and make haste and tell me thy\nname, that I may bestow on thee a gift of hospitality to gladden thy\nheart. I and my brethren have wine in plenty, for the earth gives us\nof her abundance, and the soft rain of heaven swells the grape to\nripeness; but this is a drink divine, fit for the banquets of\nOlympus.\"\n\nAgain the cup was filled, and yet a third time; and Polyphemus drank\nout every drop. Before long his great head began to droop, and his eye\nblinked mistily, like the red sun looming through a fog. Seeing that\nthe good wine was doing its work, Odysseus lost no time in telling his\nname. \"Thou askest how I am called,\" he said in cozening tones, \"and\nthou shalt hear, that I may receive the gift which thou hast promised\nme. My name is Noman; so call me my father and my mother, and all my\nfriends.\" When he heard that, Polyphemus \"grinned horribly a ghastly\nsmile,\" and answered: \"This shall be thy gift: I will eat thee last of\nall, for the sake of thy good wine.\"\n\nWith that he sank down backward on the floor, and lay like a\nleviathan, with his head lolling sideways, and his mouth gaping,\nburied in drunken sleep.\n\n\"Now is our time!\" whispered Odysseus, and taking the sharpened stake\nfrom its hiding place he thrust the point into the glowing embers of\nthe fire. As soon as he saw that the weapon was red hot and about to\nburst into flame, he took it up, and gave it to his men. Then,\nbreathing a prayer to Heaven for strength and courage, they stole\nsoftly to the place where the Cyclops lay. Odysseus clambered up to\nthe forehead of the Cyclops, holding on by his hair, and while the\nothers pressed the glowing point of the ponderous stake into the\nmonster's eye he whirled it round by means of a thong, as men turn an\nauger to bore a ship's timber. The point hissed and sputtered as it\nsank deep into the pulpy substance of the eye, and there was an acrid\nsmell of burning flesh, while the great shaggy eyebrow took fire, and\ncracked like a burning bush. \"It is a fine tempering bath for this\ngood spear of ours,\" muttered Odysseus, as he worked away at the\nstrap. \"Temper it well--Polyphemus shall have it as a parting gift\"\n\nAt first the Cyclops writhed and groaned in his sleep; then with a\nroar as of a hundred lions he awoke, and started up to a sitting\nposture, scattering his puny tormentors, who fled in wild haste, and\nhid themselves in the angle of a projecting rock. Polyphemus rose\nslowly to his feet, tore the stake from the empty eye-socket, and\nflung it from him, still uttering his fearful cries. His brethren\nheard him, and quitting their caverns, came flocking round his gate,\nto see what had befallen. \"What ails thee, Polyphemus,\" they asked,\n\"that thou makest this dreadful din, murdering our sleep? Is anyone\nstealing thy sheep or thy goats? Or seeks anyone to slay thee by force\nor by guile?\"\n\n\"Friends,\" answered the afflicted giant, \"Noman is slaying me by\nguile, neither by force.\"\n\n\"Go to,\" replied his brethren, \"if no man is using thee despitefully,\nwhy callest thou to us? Thou art stricken, it seems, with some sore\ndisease: pray, then, to thy father Poseidon, and cumber us no more.\"\nSo away they went, growling at their broken sleep, and left their\nblinded brother to roar alone.\n\nMeanwhile Odysseus had been hard at work, taking measures to escape\nwith his comrades from the cave. Among the flocks of Polyphemus were\nseveral big rams, with fleeces of remarkable thickness and beauty. Of\nthese he took three at a time, and lashed them together, side by side,\nwith osiers, which served Polyphemus for a bed. Each middle ram bore\none of the men firmly bound with osiers under his belly; while the two\noutside rams served to conceal that living burden. Last of all\nOdysseus provided for his own safety. There was one monster ram, the\nleader of the flock, with a grand fleece which trailed on the ground,\nlike the leaves of the weeping ash. Him Odysseus reserved for himself,\nand creeping under his belly hauled himself up until he was entirely\nhidden by the drooping fleece, and so hung on steadfastly, waiting for\nthe day.\n\nAt last the weary vigil was over, the huge stone portal was rolled\naside, and the male sheep and goats went forth to pasture, while the\nfemales remained in their pens, bleating and in pain, for they were\nswollen with milk, and there was none to relieve them. As the rams\nwent past Polyphemus felt their backs, to see if the men were there;\nbut the simple monster never thought of feeling under their bellies.\nLast in the train came the big ram, with Odysseus clinging underneath.\nThen said Polyphemus, as his great hands passed over his back: \"Dear\nram, why art thou the last to leave the cave? Thou wast never wont to\nbe a sluggard, but ever thou tookest the lead, walking with long\nstrides, whether thou wast cropping the tender, flowering grass, or\ngoing down to the waterside, or returning at even to the fold. Surely\nthou art heavy with sorrow for thy master's eye, which the villain\nNoman and his pitiful mates have blinded. Would that thou hadst a\nvoice, to tell me where he is skulking from my fury! Then would I pour\nforth his brains like water on the ground, and lighten my heart of the\nwoe which hath been brought upon me by the hands of this nithering[1]\nNoman.\"\n\n[Footnote 1: See Scott, \"Ivanhoe.\"]\n\nSo saying he let the ram go, and as soon as he was clear of the\ncourtyard Odysseus dropped to the ground, and ran to loose his\ncomrades. With all speed they made their way down to the ship, driving\nthe rams before them, with many a fearful backward glance. Right glad\nwere their friends to see them again, though their faces fell when\nthey saw their numbers reduced by half. But there was no time for\nregrets, for Polyphemus was already close upon them, groping his way\npainfully from rock to rock. So they flung the sheep on board, shoved\noff the vessel, and took to their oars. While they were still within\nearshot Odysseus bade his men cease rowing, and standing up in the\nstern called aloud to the Cyclops in mocking tones: \"How likest thou\nmy gift for thy hospitality, my gentle host? Methinks thou art paid in\nfull, and canst not complain that I have not given thee good measure.\"\n\nWhen he heard that, Polyphemus bellowed with rage, and tearing up a\ngreat boulder from the side of the cliff he flung it with mighty force\nin the direction of the voice. It fell into the sea right in front of\nthe ship, and raised a billow which washed her back to the shore.\nOdysseus pushed her off with a long pole, and signalled to his men to\ngive way. They rowed for dear life, and had attained twice the former\ndistance from the shore when Odysseus stopped them again, though they\nbesought him earnestly to forego his rash purpose, and to refrain from\nprovoking Polyphemus more. But he, being exceeding wroth for the\nmurder of his men, would not be persuaded; and lifting up his voice he\nspake again: \"Cyclops, if anyone ask thee to whom thou owest the loss\nof thine eye, say that it was Odysseus, the son of Laertes, who reft\nthee of sight, and his home is in rocky Ithaca.\"\n\n[Illustration: Odysseus and Polyphemus]\n\nNow it happened that many a year back Polyphemus had heard a prophecy,\nforetelling that he should one day be blinded by a certain Odysseus.\nSo when he heard that name he was stricken to the very heart, and\ncried aloud: \"This, then, is the fulfilment of the oracle! Verily I\nthought that some tall and proper man would come hither to assail me,\nbut now I have been outwitted, made drunk, and blinded, by this\nlittle, paltry wretch.\" After a pause he spoke again, thinking to\nfight that man of many wiles with his own weapons. \"Come hither,\nOdysseus,\" he said, softening his big voice as well as he could, \"that\nI may entertain thee with loving-kindness; and afterwards I will pray\nto Poseidon, whose son I am, to send a fair breeze for thy homeward\nvoyage. And he also shall heal my hurt, and give me back my sight.\"\n\nOdysseus laughed aloud at the poor monster's simplicity, whereupon\nPolyphemus lifted up his hands to heaven, and prayed to his sire, the\nlord Poseidon: \"Hear me, thou who holdest the earth in thine arms, if\nI am indeed thy son. Grant me that Odysseus may never reach his home,\nor if that is fixed beyond repeal, let him come home in evil plight,\nwith the loss of all his men, on a strange ship, to a house of\nwoe.\"[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Compare Dido's curse (\"Stories from the \u00c6neid,\" p. 84).]\n\nSuch was the curse of Polyphemus, to be fulfilled, as we shall see, to\nthe letter. And having uttered it he flung another rock, which fell\njust short of the vessel's stern, and raised a wave which washed her\ntowards the island. Soon they reached the harbour where the rest of\nthe fleet lay moored. Joyful were the greetings of their comrades, who\nhad given them up for lost; and a merry feast they made on the flesh\nof the fat sheep, though their mirth was checkered by sadness when\nthey thought of the brave six who had come to so horrible an end in\nthe Cyclops' cave.\n\nAfter leaving the land of the Cyclopes they came next to the \u00c6olian\nisland, where dwelt \u00c6olus with his wife and twelve sons and daughters.\nThe island floated on the sea, and all around it tall cliffs ran sheer\ndown to the water, crowned on their summit by a wall of brass. Here\nthey remained a whole month, and were hospitably entertained by \u00c6olus,\nrevelling in the abundance of his wealthy house, and whiling away the\ntime with music, and dance, and song, and brave stories of the Trojan\nwar. And when they departed he gave Odysseus a leathern bag, tied with\na silver cord, in which were confined all the winds that blow, except\nonly the good west wind, which he left free to blow behind them and\nspeed them on their way.\n\nSo for nine days and nights they sailed without let or hindrance, and\non the tenth they came in sight of Ithaca, which they approached so\nnear that they saw the smoke and flame of the beacon-fires along the\ncoast. Odysseus was worn out with watching, for during all the voyage\nhe had not closed his eyes, but had sat the whole time with his hand\non the sheet, and suffered no one to relieve him. But now within sight\nof his native land he sank down in utter weariness, and fell into a\ndeep sleep.\n\nThat fatal moment of weakness led to a long train of disasters. His\nmen had long gazed with curious and jealous eyes at the mysterious\nwallet, which they supposed to be full of gold and silver. As long as\nOdysseus was on his guard they durst not give utterance to their\nthoughts; but when they saw him overtaken by slumber they began to\nmurmur among themselves. And thus they spake one to another: \"Behold\nhow this man is honoured and beloved whithersoever he goes! He left\nTroy-land laden with booty, and thereto hath \u00c6olus added this rich\ntreasure, while we must come home with empty hands. Go to, let us have\nsight of all this gold and silver.\"\n\nSo waking folly prevailed over slumbering prudence. In a moment the\nsilver cord was loosened, and all the boisterous winds rushed forth\nand bore them weeping and wailing far from their native land. Roused\nby the tumult of the tempest, and the despairing cries of his men,\nOdysseus sprang up, just in time to see the last glimpse of the hills\nof Ithaca as they melted in the distance. His first impulse was to\nfling himself into the sea and perish; but mastering his frenzy he\ncovered his face, and sat down in speechless misery, while the winds\nbore them swiftly back to the isle of \u00c6olus.\n\nWith a heavy heart Odysseus went up to the house where he had been\nreceived so kindly, and told his sorrowful tale. \"Pity my weakness,\"\nhe pleaded, \"and let me not suffer for the sins of my men.\" But \u00c6olus\nwas not to be moved. \"Begone,\" he said sternly, \"quit this island at\nonce, thou caitiff! Heaven hath set the seal of its hatred upon thee,\nand I may not give countenance to such as thou. Out of my sight!\" he\nthundered, and Odysseus crept sadly back to his ship.\n\nThen for six days they voyaged on, toiling continually at the oar, for\nnow there was no favourable wind to waft them on. They were almost\ndead with fatigue when they sighted land on the seventh day, and came\nto anchor in a sheltered bay, surrounded on all sides by towering\ncliffs, with a narrow entrance, guarded by a tall spire of rock on\neither side The place was called L\u00e6strygonia, and the nights in that\ncountry are so short that the shepherd as he drives home his flocks at\nsundown meets his fellow-toiler on his way to the pasture.\n\nThe cautious Odysseus moored his ship close to the entrance of the\nharbour, while all the others came to anchor at the head of the bay\nunder the shadow of the cliffs; for there was not a wave, not a\nripple, in that sheltered spot, but the water slumbered, as in a\nmountain tarn. Having secured his vessel, by making fast her cable to\nthe rocks, he scaled the cliff with a few of his men, and seeing smoke\nrising in the distance he sent three scouts to explore the country,\nmeantime going back to his ship to await their return.\n\nSooner than he expected he saw two of the men descending the cliff in\nheadlong haste, and as they drew near he could read on their white,\nterror-stricken faces what sort of news they had to bring. Their\nreport was as dismal as their looks. When they left the coast they\nstruck into a level road cut through the forest, and presently came to\na spring on the outskirts of a town. Here they met a maiden, drawing\nwater at the well, who told them that she was the daughter of\nAntiphates, king of that country, and offered to conduct them to her\nfather's house. They went with her, and when she had brought them home\nshe left them to summon her father.\n\n\"As soon as we caught sight of him,\" continued he who was telling the\nstory, \"we were stricken with terror, for he was of monstrous stature\nand hideous to behold. One of us he seized, and rent him in pieces on\nthe spot; but we two fled for our lives. There is no time to lose. The\ntown is in uproar, and before long the whole cannibal tribe will be\nupon us.\"\n\nHardly had he finished when a multitude of these huge savages was seen\nrushing along the edge of the cliffs which overlooked the harbour.\nArming themselves with great rocks, they began to bombard the ships\nwhich had taken the inside station; and a dreadful din arose of\nshattered timbers, mingled with the cries of dying men. Not one ship\nescaped destruction, and when that part of their work was ended the\nbarbarians swarmed down the cliffs, speared the floating corpses, and\ndragged them to land for a cannibal feast.\n\nAll this time Odysseus and his crew had been helpless spectators of\nthis scene of massacre. But when they saw that all was over they cut\ntheir cable, and taking to their oars rowed with might and main until\na wide space of open water divided them from that ill-fated shore,\nwhere all their friends had found a grave.\n\nIV\n\nOf the thirteen vessels with which Odysseus sailed from Troy only one\nwas now left. Weary and broken in spirit they voyaged on over the\nwaste of waters; and when, after two or three days' sail, they landed\non a low-lying coast, they lay down for two days and two nights, like\nmen whose last hope in life was gone. On the third morning Odysseus\nroused himself, and ascending a rising ground saw to his dismay that\nthey had landed on a small island. On all sides stretched the\nboundless sea, without a trace of land on the whole horizon.\n\nAs he was descending the hill he heard a rustling in a neighbouring\nthicket, and a tall stag with branching antlers stepped forth, and\nbegan to make his way down to a little stream which skirted the foot\nof the hill. From the high ground on which he stood Odysseus had a\nfull view of the beast's broad back, and taking steady aim he flung\nhis spear and pierced him through the spine. Odysseus' eyes glistened\nwhen he saw the splendid quarry at his feet, for never had he seen so\nfine a buck. Not without effort he took the carcass on his back, and\nbore it down to his ship, where he found his men still lying\nlistlessly where he had left them. \"Courage, comrades,\" he cried, as\nhe flung his heavy burden on the sand. \"We shall not die before our\nday, and while we have life we must eat and drink. Better a full\nsorrow than a fasting.\"[1] So they ate and drank, and made good cheer.\n\n[Footnote 1: See the whole incident imitated in Virgil (\"Stories from\nthe \u00c6neid,\" p. 49).]\n\nNext day Odysseus divided his whole crew into two companies, two and\ntwenty each, with himself as captain of one division, and Eurylochus,\nhis faithful squire, in command of the other. Then he drew lots with\nEurylochus to determine which of the two should undertake the perilous\nduty of exploring the island. The lot fell upon Eurylochus, and he at\nonce set forth with his party, pursued by the prayers and tears of\nthose who remained behind.\n\nPassing the low hills which skirted the coast, they struck into a\nforest path, and presently came to an open glade, in the midst of\nwhich stood a fair stone dwelling. And as they came and drew nigh unto\nthe house they saw a strange sight: before the doors stalked and\nglared a multitude of wolves and lions, and other beasts of prey, and\nwhen they saw the men these fearful creatures came fawning round them,\nlike hounds welcoming their master, and did them no harm.\n\nQuaking with wonder and fear, they came and stood on the threshold,\nthrough which they caught sight of a young and lovely dame, pacing to\nand fro about her loom, and weaving a wondrous web, fair and large,\nsuch as the daughters of the gods are wont to weave. And as she plied\nher task, she sang to herself in a low and thrilling voice, sad and\nsweet as the notes of the \u00c6olian harp. Presently she turned her face\nto the doorway, and saw the men standing without. With a bright smile\nshe came forward, and bade them enter; and they all went in, save only\nEurylochus, who was older than the rest, and liked not the look in\nthat fair lady's eyes.\n\n\"Welcome, fair youths,\" she said, \"to the halls of Circe, daughter of\nthe sun. Sit ye down, while I prepare you a posset to slake your\nthirst on this hot day.\" So they sat down, and Circe took wine, and\ngrated cheese, and honey, and barley-meal, and mixed them in a bowl,\nmuttering strange words, and adding a single drop from a little phial\nwhich she took from a secret cupboard. Then she gave them to drink,\ntouching them, as she did so, with a wand; and no sooner had they\ntasted than their form and countenance was changed into the likeness\nof swine, though they kept the mind and feelings of men. Circe now\ndrove them all together into a stye, and flung down beechmast, and\nacorns, and cornel berries, for them to eat.\n\nIt was drawing towards noon when Odysseus saw a solitary figure\ndescending the slope which led down to the beach. \"Eurylochus!\" he\ncried, recognising the familiar features of his squire. \"Why comest\nthou alone?\" For some time Eurylochus was unable to utter a word; at\nlast he spoke, in a broken and altered voice, while his face was\nblanched with deadly terror. \"They are gone,\" he faltered--\"spirited\naway--vanished without a sign. The place is haunted: let us away!\"\n\nWithout a word, Odysseus caught up his sword and bow, and ordered\nEurylochus to show him the way to the place where he had lost his men.\nBut Eurylochus clung to his knees, and besought him to remain, and\nprepare for instant flight. Seeing him to be unnerved by terror,\nOdysseus bade him stay by the ship, and he himself set out alone to\nlearn the secrets of this mysterious island.\n\nJust before coming within sight of Circe's palace, he saw, standing in\nhis path, a fair and comely youth, who greeted him kindly, and took\nhim by the hand. There was something more than human beauty in the\nface of this stranger, and his words showed more than human knowledge\nof Odysseus and his affairs; for indeed he was no other than Hermes,\nthe messenger of the gods, sent down from heaven to aid Odysseus in\nthis strait. \"Son of Laertes,\" he said, \"why goest thou thus unwarily,\neven as a silly bird into the net of the fowler? Pause awhile, or,\ninstead of setting free thy men, thou wilt become even as they are.\"\nSo saying he stooped down, and with careful hands tore up a little\nplant which was growing at their feet; the flower of it was white as\nmilk, and the root was black. \"Take this plant,\" he said, giving it to\nOdysseus. \"It is the magic herb, Moly, and no human hand may pluck it;\nhaving this, thou mayest defy all the spells of Circe. And when thou\ncomest to the house of that fair witch, she will offer thee a potion,\nmixed with baneful drugs: drink thou thereof, for it shall do thee no\nharm. But when she smites thee with her wand draw thou thy sword and\nmake as though thou wouldst slay her; and she will be filled with\nfear, for none ever resisted her power before. Then do thou compel her\nto swear a great oath that she will devise no further ill against\nthee.\" As the last words were uttered Hermes vanished, leaving\nOdysseus standing with the plant in his hand.\n\n[Illustration: Circe]\n\nAnd as the god had spoken, even so it came to pass. Circe welcomed\nOdysseus with the same treacherous smile, gave him to drink of the\nsame cup, and struck him with her wand in the same manner; but when\nshe saw him standing, unchanged and unmoved, threatening her with\ndrawn sword, she feared exceedingly, and falling at his feet spake\nthus in pitiful tones: \"Who art thou, that thou yieldest not to the\npower of my drugs, which never mortal resisted before? Art thou that\nOdysseus of whom Hermes spake, telling me that he should come hither\non his voyage from Troy? Put up thy sword, and thou shalt be my guest\nto-night, and for many days to come.\"\n\n\"No guest will I be of thine,\" answered Odysseus sternly, \"unless thou\nwilt swear a great oath to do me no hurt. Before that I will not trust\nthee, or receive aught at thy hands. Hast thou not turned my men into\nswine, and didst thou not seek even now to put thy wicked spells upon\nme?\"\n\nThen Circe took the oath that was required of her, and thus secured\nOdysseus consented to remain. Forthwith his beautiful hostess summoned\nher handmaids, sweet nymphs of rivers, and woods, and springs, and\nbade them make all things ready to entertain the wanderer. With white\nfeet tripping nimbly, and many a curious glance at the majestic\nstranger, the maidens hastened to obey her command. And soon the\ntables, which were all of silver, were set forth with golden vessels,\nthe chairs spread with purple tapestries, and the rich red wine\nmingled in a silver bowl. Others prepared a bath for Odysseus, and\nwhen he had bathed, more than mortal health and vigour seemed to enter\nhis limbs, such virtue had Circe shed into the water.\n\nAfter that they sat down to meat; but Odysseus, whose mind was full of\nhis comrades, left every dish untasted, and sat without uttering a\nword. When she observed it, Circe rallied him for his sullenness: \"Art\nthou afraid to eat?\" she said, smiling: \"have I not sworn to do thee\nno harm? Ah! thou art thinking of thy friends. Come, then, and I will\nrestore them to thee.\" So she brought him to the stye where they were\nconfined together, and opening the gate drove them all forth, a herd\nof bristly swine. Then she anointed them one by one with another drug;\nand instantly the bristles fell away from them, and they became men\nagain, only younger and fairer to behold than they were before. With\ntears of joy they embraced Odysseus, and the whole place rang with\ntheir happy greetings, so that even Circe was moved by the tender\nscene.\n\nWhen they had grown calmer she bade Odysseus go down to the sea, and\nbring back all the rest of his company to take up their abode in her\nhouse. Being now quite reassured as to her purpose, he hesitated not\nto obey, and went down alone to carry the message from Circe. Arrived\nat the ship he was hailed by his comrades as one returned from the\ndead; but putting aside their eager questions he told them to beach\nthe vessel, stow away all her tackle, and follow him to the house of\nCirce, where they would find all their fellows feasting and making\nmerry.\n\nMuch cheered by his words the men set to work with willing hands, and\nbefore an hour had passed the whole company was reunited under Circe's\nhospitable roof. The dreaded witch had laid aside all her terrors, and\nnow appeared only in the character of a kind and generous hostess,\nwhose sole care was for the comfort and welfare of her guests. Days\nlengthened into weeks, and weeks into months, and still they lingered\non in that luxurious clime, as if there were no such place as Ithaca,\nand no wide waste of sea to be crossed.\n\nAt last, when they had lived a whole year on the island, Odysseus' men\nbegan to grow weary of their long inaction, and begged their leader to\nobtain Circe's permission to depart. Not without some misgivings,\nOdysseus preferred his request. \"Deem me not ungrateful,\" he said, \"if\nmy heart turns ever to my wife and home. I am but a mortal man, with\nhuman needs and frailties, and no fit mate for a goddess like thee.\nAnd my men weary me with their importunity, when thou art not near.\"\n\nCirce heard him graciously, knowing well that they must part. \"I will\nnot keep thee,\" she said, \"against thy will. But a long journey lies\nbefore thee, even to the very ends of the earth, and not until that is\npast canst thou set thy sail for home. To the halls of Hades thou must\ngo, and consult the spirit of Theban Teiresias, who alone among all\nthe dead hath an understanding heart, while the rest are but flitting\nshadows. Now hearken, and I will tell thee all that thou must do. When\nthou leavest these shores thou shalt sail ever southward, until thou\nhast reached the farther side of the River Oceanus, and come to the\nshadowy grove which stands at the confines of the realm of Persephone.\nThere thou shalt land with thy company, and dig a trench a cubit in\nlength and breadth, and pour about it a libation of mead and water and\nwine; and after that thou shalt offer a sacrifice of black sheep, in\nsuch wise that the blood thereof shall flow into the trench and fill\nit. Thither will flock the whole multitude of departed spirits, to\ndrink of the blood; but do thou draw thy sword, and hold it over the\ntrench, nor suffer any of the other spirits to draw near until thou\nhast seen Teiresias and hearkened to his lore.\"\n\nAll that night Odysseus remained in deep conference with Circe, and as\nsoon as day dawned he went to rouse his men who were sleeping in the\nouter chamber. \"Up, comrades!\" he cried, \"all is prepared, and we must\nembark without delay.\" His loud summons proved fatal to one of the\ncompany, a certain Elpenor, the youngest of them all, who, the night\nbefore, had lain down to sleep on the housetop, for the sake of the\ncoolness, being heated with wine. Roused suddenly by the voice of\nOdysseus, he staggered to his feet, and, still half asleep, stumbled\nover the parapet in his haste, and fell headlong from the roof.\n\nIn the hurry of their departure the body was left where it lay, and\nOdysseus, when they reached the ship, did not notice his absence. They\nfound that Circe had been there before them, and left the victims for\nsacrifice bound to the vessel's side. She herself was nowhere to be\nseen, and so without another word of farewell they launched their\ngalley and put out into the deep.\n\n\n\n\nThe Visit to Hades\n\n\nI\n\nA clear, strong wind came down from the north, sent by the favour of\nthe mighty enchantress Circe, and over the trackless sea they sped,\nwhere never furrow of mortal ship was seen before. After a long day's\nsail they came to the farther shore of the ocean stream, which\nsurrounds the earth as with a girdle. There is the abode of the people\ncalled the Cimmerians, wrapped in shadow and mist; for never doth the\nsun look down upon them with his rays, neither when he climbs the\nstarry sky, nor yet when he goeth down unto the place of his rest. And\nthus they dwell miserably under the curse of perpetual night.\n\nAs they peered through the gloom they saw what seemed a grove of dusky\ntrees, in shape like the poplar and willow, fringing the shore. \"It is\nthe sign which Circe gave me,\" whispered Odysseus to his awestruck\ncomrades; \"we are at the very gates of Hades.\" Landing in silence,\nthey carried the victims for sacrifice to the verge of the grove, and\nOdysseus with his sword dug a trench, a cubit in length and breadth,\nand poured about it a libation of mead and water and wine. Then the\nsheep were slaughtered, and the trench was filled to the brim with\ntheir blood. When the solemn rite was ended, Odysseus called in a loud\nvoice to the spirits of the dead, and waited in breathless expectation\nwith his men.\n\nPresently a rustling sound was heard, like the sound of the autumn\nwind in the dry leaves of the forest; it grew louder and louder, and\nout of the gloom the ghosts came flocking, youths and maidens cut off\nin their bloom, old men with all their burden of sorrow, and warriors\nslain in battle, still wearing the bloodstained armour.[1] With a wild\nunearthly cry they came crowding to the trench, eager to drink of the\nblood. But Odysseus, though quaking with fear, stood his ground\nfirmly, and held his drawn sword over the trench to keep off the\nmultitude, until he had seen and spoken with Teiresias.\n\n[Footnote 1: Compare \"Stories from the \u00c6neid,\" p. 119.]\n\nAmong the hosts of spirits there was one who lingered near the trench,\nand seemed by his beseeching gestures and earnest looks to desire\nspeech with Odysseus. When his first fears were over Odysseus\nrecognised the features of Elpenor, who had come to an untimely end on\nthe morning of their journey, and whose body still lay unburied in the\nhouse of Circe. Registering a mental vow to perform all due rites to\nthat poor spirit on his homeward voyage, Odysseus warned him back, and\nstood waiting for the coming of the seer.\n\nAt last came one with tottering footsteps, leaning on a golden\nsceptre, and halted on the farther edge of the trench. It seemed a\nvery aged man, with flowing white beard, and sightless eyes; and\nOdysseus knew by these signs that he was in the presence of Teiresias,\nthe famous prophet of Thebes, who alone among departed spirits\npreserves his understanding, while the rest are flitting phantoms,\nwith no sense at all. \"What wouldst thou of me, Odysseus, son of\nLaertes,\" said the spectre in faltering tones, \"and wherefore hast\nthou left the glad light of day to visit this drear and joyless realm\nof the dead? Draw back from the trench, and put up thy sword in its\nsheath, that I may drink of the blood and tell thee all that thou\nwouldst know.\"\n\nThereupon Odysseus fell back, and sheathed his sword; and Teiresias,\nwhen he had drunk of the blood, spoke again in firmer and clearer\ntones: \"Thou art fain to hear of thy home-coming, illustrious hero;\nbut thy path to Ithaca shall be beset with sorrows, because of the\nwrath of Poseidon, whose son, Polyphemus, thou hast blinded.\nNevertheless thou and all thy company shall return safe to Ithaca, if\nonly ye leave untouched the sacred flocks and herds of Helios,[1] when\nye come to the island of Thrinacia. But if harm befall them at your\nhands, from that hour thy ship and all her crew are doomed and forfeit\nto destruction: and though thou thyself escape, yet thou shalt return\nafter many days, in evil plight, to a house of woe.[2] And now learn\nhow thou mayest at last appease the anger of the god who pursues thee\nwith his vengeance. When thou art once more master in thine own house\nthou shalt go on a far journey, carrying with thee an oar of thy\nvessel, until thou comest to a people that dwell far from the sea, and\nknow naught of ships or the mariner's art. And there shalt meet thee\nby the way a man who shall say that thou bearest a winnowing shovel[3]\non thy shoulder; and this shall be a sign unto thee, whereby thou\nshalt know that thou hast reached the end of thy journey. Then plant\nthy oar in the ground, and offer sacrifice to Poseidon. This shall be\nthe end of thy toils, and death shall come softly upon thee where thou\ndwellest in a green old age among thy happy people.\"\n\n[Footnote 1: The sun god.]\n\n[Footnote 2: The very words of Polyphemus, p. 93.]\n\n[Footnote 3: The oar.]\n\nWhen he had thus spoken Teiresias vanished into the darkness; and one\nby one the spirits came up to the trench, as Odysseus suffered them,\nand having drunk of the blood obtained strength to speak and answer\nhis questions. First among them was the spirit of his mother,\nAnticleia, daughter of Autolycus, who had been hovering near during\nhis conference with Teiresias. When she had drunk she said: \"Whence\ncomest thou, my son? Art thou still wandering on thy long voyage from\nTroy, or hast thou been in Ithaca, and seen thy wife?\"\n\n\"Nay, mother,\" answered Odysseus, \"I am wandering still, still\ntreading the path of woe, since the day when I followed Agamemnon to\nTroy. But tell me now, and answer me truly, what was the manner of thy\ndeath? Came it slowly, by long disease, or did Artemis lay thee low in\na moment with a painless arrow from her bow?[1] And tell me of my\nfather and my son whom I left in Ithaca; do they still hold my\npossessions, or hath some other thrust them with violence from my\nseat? Tell me also of Penelope, my wedded wife, whether she abides\nsteadfast and guards my goods, or whether she is gone to cheer some\nother man's heart.\"\n\n[Footnote 1: Sudden death was ascribed to Artemis or Apollo.]\n\n\"Steadfast indeed she is,\" replied Anticleia, \"and wondrous patient of\nheart; all her thoughts are ever of thee. No one has yet usurped thy\nplace in Ithaca, but Telemachus still reaps thy fields and sits down\nto meat with the noblest in the land. As to thy father, he comes no\nmore to the town, but dwells continually on his farm. He lives not\ndelicately, as princes use, but is clad in sorry raiment, and sleeps\nin the winter among the ashes of the hearth with his thralls, and in\nsummer on a bed of dry leaves in his vineyard. There he lies forsaken,\nheavy with years and sorrows, mourning for thee. And in such wise also\ndeath came upon me, neither by wasting sickness nor by the gentle\nshafts of Artemis, but my sore longing for thee, Odysseus, and for thy\nsweet counsels, at last broke my heart.\"\n\nA flood of tenderness overpowered Odysseus at these sad words, and he\nsprang forward with arms outstretched to clasp his mother to his\nbreast. Thrice he essayed to embrace her, and thrice his arms closed\non emptiness,[1] while that ghostly presence still flitted before him\nlike a shadow or a dream. \"O my mother,\" cried Odysseus in deep\ndistress, \"why dost thou mock me thus? Come to my heart, dear mother;\nlet me hold thee in mine arms once more, and mingle my tears with\nthine. Or art thou but the shadow of a shade, a phantom sent by\nPersephone to deceive me?\"\n\n[Footnote 1: Compare \"Stories from the \u00c6neid,\" p. 24.]\n\n\"Persephone deceives thee not,\" answered the ghost, \"but this is the\nfashion of mortals when they die. Flesh and bone and sinew are\nconsumed by the might of fire, but the spirit takes flight and hovers\never like a winged dream. But make haste and get thee back to the\ndaylight, and keep all that thou hast seen in memory that thou mayest\ntell it to thy wife.\"\n\nWhen the spirit of Anticleia was gone, a shadowy throng pressed\nforward to the trench, all the ghosts of noble dames, wives and\ndaughters of princes. And Odysseus kept his place, sword in hand,\nsuffering them only to drink one by one, that he might question them\nand learn their story. There he saw Alcmene, the mother of Hercules,\nand Leda, to whose twin sons, Castor and Pollux, a strange destiny was\nallotted; for after their death they rose to life again on alternate\ndays, one lying in the tomb, while the other walked the earth as a\nliving man. There too was Iphimedeia, mother of the giants Otus and\nEphialtes, who at nine years of age were nine fathoms in height and\nnine cubits in breadth. Haughty were they, and presumptuous in their\nyouth; for they made war on the gods, and piled Ossa on Olympus, and\nPelion on Ossa, that they might scale the sky. But they perished in\ntheir impiety, shot down by the bolts of Apollo's golden bow. Last\ncame Eriphyle, the false wife, who sold her husband's life for a\nglittering bribe.\n\nThat dream of fair women melted away and another ghostly band\nsucceeded, the souls of great captains and mighty men of war. Foremost\namong these was seen one of regal port, around whom was gathered a\nchoice company of veteran warriors, all gored and gashed with recent\nwounds. He who seemed their leader stretched out his hands towards\nOdysseus with a piteous gesture, and tears such as spirits weep[1]\ngushed from his eyes. Instantly Odysseus recognised in that stricken\nspirit his great commander Agamemnon, once the proud captain of a\nthousand ships, now wandering, forlorn and feeble, with all his glory\nfaded.\n\n[Footnote 1: \"Tears such as _angels_ weep,\" Milton, \"Paradise Lost,\"\ni. 619.]\n\n\"Royal son of Atreus,\" he said, in a voice broken with weeping, \"is it\nhere that I find thee, great chieftain of the embattled Greeks? Say,\nhow comest thou hither, and what arm aimed the stroke which laid thee\nlow?\" \"Not in honour's field did I fall,\" answered Agamemnon, \"nor yet\namid the waves. It was a traitor's hand that cut me off, the hand of\n\u00c6gisthus, and the guile of my accursed wife. He feasted me at his\nboard, and slaughtered me as one slaughters a stalled ox; and all my\ncompany fell with me in that den of butchery. It was pitiful to see\nall that brave band of veterans writhing in their death agony among\nthe tables loaded with good cheer, and goblets brimming with wine. But\nthat which gave me my sorest pang was the dying shriek of Cassandra,\ndaughter of Priam, who was struck down at my side by the dagger of\nClyt\u00e6mnestra. Then the murderess turned away and left me with staring\neyes and mouth gaping in death. For naught is so vile, naught so\ncruel, as a woman who hath hardened her heart to tread the path of\ncrime. Even so did she break her marriage vows, and afterwards slew\nthe husband of her youth. I thought to have found far other welcome\nwhen I passed under the shadow of mine own roof-tree. But this\ndemon-wife imagined evil against me, and brought infamy on the very\nname of woman.\"\n\n\"Strange ordinance of Zeus!\" said Odysseus musingly, \"which hath\nturned the choicest blessing of man's life, the love of woman, into\nthe bitterest of curses for thee and for thy house. Yea, and upon all\nthe land of Hellas hath woe been brought by the deed of a\nwoman--Helen, thy brother's wife.\"\n\n\"Ay, trust them not,\" replied Agamemnon bitterly, \"Never give thy\nheart into a woman's keeping; she will rifle thy very soul's flower,\nand then laugh thee to scorn. But why do I speak thus to thee? Thou\nhast indeed a treasure in thy wife; no wiser head, no truer heart,\nthan hers. Happy art thou, and sweet the refuge which is prepared for\nthee after all thy toils, Well I remember the day when we set sail\nfrom Greece, and how fondly thou spakest of her, thy young bride, with\nher babe at her breast. Now he will be a tall youth, and with what joy\nwill he look into the eyes of his father, whom he was then too young\nto know!\"\n\nAfter that Odysseus was silent, his mind full of sweet and anxious\nthoughts. Meanwhile other familiar forms had drawn near, the spirits\nof warriors renowned, whose very names were as a battle-cry when they\ndwelt on earth: Achilles, Patroclus, and Antilochus, and farther off,\nlooming dimly in the darkness, the gigantic shade of Ajax. Achilles\nwas the first to speak. \"Son of Laertes,\" he said, \"thou man of\ndaring, hast thou reached the limit of thy rashness, or wilt thou go\nyet further? Are there no perils left for thee in the land of the\nliving that thou must invade the very realm of Hades, the sunless\nhaunts of the dead?\"\n\n\"I came to inquire of Teiresias,\" answered Odysseus, \"concerning my\nreturn to Ithaca. All my life I am a bondslave to toil and woe; but\nthou, Achilles, wast happy in thy life, honoured as a god by all the\nsons of Hellas; and now thou art happy, even in death, for honour\nwaits on thy footsteps still.\"\n\n\"Tell me not of comfort in death,\" replied Achilles. \"Rather would I\nbreathe the air of heaven, yea, though I were thrall to a man of\nlittle substance, than reign as king over all the shades of the dead.\nBut give me some news of my son, Neoptolemus. Came he to fight with\nthe Trojans after I was gone, and did he acquit him well? And knowest\nthou aught of my father, Peleus? Lives he still in honour and comfort\namong my people, or has he been driven into beggary by violent men,\nnow that he is old and I am not near to aid him? Oh, for an hour of\nlife, with such might as was mine when I fought in the van for Greece?\nThen should they pay a bitter reckoning, whosoever they be that wrong\nhim and keep him from his own.\"\n\n\"Of Peleus,\" answered Odysseus, \"I have heard nothing, but of thy son,\nNeoptolemus, I can tell thee much, for I myself brought him from\nScyros to fight in Helen's cause, and thereafter my eye was ever upon\nhim, to mark how he bore himself. In council none could vie with him,\nsave only Nestor and myself; ne'er saw I so rare a wit in so young a\nhead. And when the Greeks were arrayed in battle against the Trojans\nhe was never seen to hang back, but fought ever in the van among the\nforemost champions, like a mighty man of war. Nor was it only in the\nclamour and heat of war that he proved his mettle; for in that\nperilous hour when we lay ambushed in the wooden horse, when the\nstoutest hearts among us quailed, he never changed colour, but sat\nfingering his spear and sword, waiting for the signal to go forth to\nthe assault. And after we had sacked the lofty towers of Troy he\nreceived a goodly portion of the spoil, and a special prize of honour,\nand so departed, untouched by point or blade, to his father's house.\"\n\nWhen he heard these brave tidings of his son, Achilles rejoiced in\nspirit, and strode with lofty gait along the plain of asphodel.\n\nSo one by one the spirits came up, and inquired of Odysseus of their\ndear ones at home. Only the soul of Ajax, son of Telamon, stood\nsullenly aloof; for between him and Odysseus there was an old quarrel.\nAfter the death of Achilles a dispute arose among the surviving\nchieftains for the possession of his armour. It was decided to refer\nthe matter to the Trojan captives in the camp, and they were asked who\nof all the Greeks had done them most harm. They answered in favour of\nOdysseus, who accordingly received the armour. Thereupon Ajax fell\ninto a frenzy of rage, and slew himself. When Odysseus saw him, and\nmarked his unforgiving mood, he was filled with remorse and pity, and\nstrove to soften his resentment with gentle words. \"Ah! son of\nTelamon,\" he said, \"canst thou not forgive me, even here? Sorely the\nArgives mourned thee, and heavy was the loss brought on them by thy\nrash act. Thou wast a very tower of strength to the host, and we wept\nfor thee as for a second Achilles. Draw near, great prince, subdue thy\nhaughty spirit, and speak to me as thou wast wont to speak before the\nwill of heaven set enmity between us.\"\n\nThus earnestly Odysseus pleaded, but there was no reply, and the angry\nspirit passed away into the gloom of Erebus.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Compare the silence of Dido, \"Stories from the \u00c6neid,\" p.\n123.]\n\nII\n\nOdysseus still lingered, hoping yet to have speech with other souls of\nheroes who had once rivalled him in valour and wisdom while they dwelt\nin the flesh. But he was destined to see another and more awful\nvision. Suddenly the pall of darkness which shrouded the secrets of\nthe nether abyss was lifted, and the whole realm of Hades was exposed\nto view. There he saw the place of torment, where great malefactors\natone for their crime, and Minos, the infernal judge, sitting at the\ngates, passing sentence, and giving judgment among the shades. Within\nappeared the gigantic form of Tityos, stretched at full length along\nthe ground, and two vultures sat ever at his side, tearing his liver.\nThis was his punishment for violence offered to Leto, the mother of\nApollo and Artemis. Not far from him appeared Tantalus, plunged up to\nthe neck in a cool stream; the water lapped against his chin, but he\nhad not power to drink it, though he was tormented with a burning\nthirst. As often as he stooped to drink, the water was swallowed up,\nand the earth lay dry as the desert sand at his feet. And nodding\nboughs of trees drooped, heavy with delicious fruit, over his head;\nbut when he put forth his hand to pluck the fruit, a furious gust of\nwind swept it away far beyond his reach. And yet another famous\ncriminal he saw, Sisyphus, the most cunning and most covetous of the\nsons of men. He was toiling painfully up a steep mountain's side,\nheaving a weighty stone before him, and straining with hands and feet\nto push it to the summit. But every time he approached the top, the\nstone slipped through his hands, and thundered and smoked down the\nmountain's side till it reached the plain.\n\nOther wonders and terrors might still have been revealed, but as that\nhardy watcher stood at his post a great tumult and commotion arose in\nthat populous city of the dead, and the whole multitude of its ghostly\ndenizens came rushing towards the trench, as if resolved to expel the\ndaring intruder. Odysseus' heart failed him when he saw the air thick\nwith hovering spectres, who glared with dreadful eyes, and filled the\nair with the sound of their unearthly voices. Turning his back on that\nplace of horror he made his way slowly towards the shore, where he\nfound his men anxiously awaiting him.\n\n\n\n\nThe Sirens; Scylla and Charybdis; Thrinacia\n\n\nI\n\nFollowing the same course as on his outward voyage, Odysseus put in\nagain at the island of Circe, where his first duty was to bury the\nbody of the young Elpenor, whose ghost he had seen in an attitude of\nmute reproach at the threshold of Hades. They were again received with\nall hospitality by Circe.\n\nAfter the evening meal Circe drew Odysseus apart, and questioned him\non all that he had seen and heard on that strange journey, from which\nhe had returned, as she said, like one ransomed from death. And when\nhe had told his story she instructed him as to the course which he had\nto steer on leaving the island, and warned him against the manifold\nperils of the voyage.\n\n\"First,\" said she, \"thou wilt come to the rocks of the Sirens, maidens\nof no mortal race, who beguile the ears of all that hear them. Woe to\nhim who draws near to listen to their song! He shall never see the\nfaces of his wife and children again, or feel their arms about his\nneck, but there he shall perish, and there his bones shall rot.\nTherefore take heed, and when thou drawest near the place stop the\nears of thy men with wax, and bid them bind thee fast with cords, that\nthou mayest hear the song of the Sirens. And when that seducing melody\nfills thine ears, thou wilt beg and implore thy comrades to set thee\nfree, that thou mayest draw near and have speech of the Sirens. Then\nlet them bind thee more firmly to the mast, and take to their oars,\nand fly the enchanted rocks.\n\n\"This peril past, thou hast the choice of two different routes. One of\nthese will bring thee to the Wandering Isles, which stand, front to\nfront, with steep slippery sides of rock, running sheer down to the\nsea. Between them lies a narrow way, which is the very gate of death.\nFor if aught living attempts to pass between, those rocky jaws close\nupon it and grind it to powder. Only the doves which bear ambrosia to\nFather Zeus can pass that awful strait, and one of these pays toll\nwith her life as she passes, but Zeus sends another to fill her place.\nAnd one ship sailed safely through, even the famous _Argo_ when she\nbore Jason and his crew on their voyage from the land of \u00c6etes. All\nothers when they essayed the task perished, and were brought to naught\nin a whirlwind of foam and fire.\n\n\"But if thou takest the other way thou wilt come to another strait,\nguarded day and night by two sleepless sentinels, Scylla and\nCharybdis. On one side thereof towers a lofty peak, shrouded, even in\nthe noon of summer, in clouds and thick darkness. No mortal man could\nclimb that steep and slippery rock, not though he had twenty hands and\ntwenty feet; for the side is smooth as polished marble, and in the\nmidst of the cliff is a shadowy cave overlooking the track by which\nthou must guide thy ship, Odysseus. Deep down it goes into the heart\nof the mountain, so that a man in his lusty prime could not shoot an\narrow from his ship to the bottom of that yawning pit In the cave\ndwells Scylla, and yelps without ceasing. Her voice is thin and\nshrill, like the cry of a hound newly littered, but she herself is a\nmonster horrible to behold, so that neither man nor god could face her\nwithout affright. Twelve feet hath she, and six necks of prodigious\nlength, and on each neck a fearful head, whose ravening jaws are armed\nwith triple rows of teeth. As far as her waist she is hidden in the\nhollow cave, but she thrusts out her serpent necks from the abyss, and\nfishes in the waters for dolphins and sea-dogs and other creatures\nwhose pasture is the sea. On every ship that passes her den she levies\na tribute of six of her crew.\n\n\"On the other side of the strait thou wilt see a second rock, lying\nflat and low, about a bowshot from the first. There stands a great\nfig-tree, thick with leaves, and under it sits Charybdis, sucking down\nthe water, and belching it up again three times a day. Beware that\nthou approach not when she sucks down the water, for then none could\nsave thee from destruction, no, not Poseidon himself. Rather steer thy\ngalley past Scylla's cave, for it is better to lose six of thy men\nthan to lose them all.\n\n\"Next thou shalt come to the island of Thrinacia, where graze the oxen\nof Helios and his goodly sheep--seven herds of oxen, and as many fair\nflocks of sheep, and fifty in each flock and herd. They are not born,\nneither do they die, and two goddesses have charge of them,\nfair-haired nymphs, the daughters of Helios. Take heed that thou harm\nnot the sacred beasts, that it may be well with thee, and that thou\nand thy company may come safely home.\"\n\nII\n\nOnce more they were afloat, and the brave little vessel bounded gaily\nover the waves, her canvas bellying in the wind. For some hours they\nsailed on thus, and Odysseus recited to his men all that he had heard\nfrom Circe. Then suddenly the wind dropped, and the sail hung idly to\nthe mast. Having furled and stowed the sail, they took to their oars,\nwhile the sea went down, and at last sunk to a level calm. In the\ndistance a low-lying coast appeared, which Odysseus knew to be the\nisland of the Sirens, Forthwith he began to make his preparations to\nmeet the danger which lay before them. Taking a ball of wax he cut it\ninto small pieces, and having worked each piece in his hand until it\nwas soft and plastic he carefully stopped the ears of all his men with\nthe wax. Then two of the crew, to whom he had already given his\norders, bound him hand and foot to the mast of the vessel. All being\nready, they rowed forward until they came within full view of the\nisland. And there, in a low-lying meadow hard by the sea, sat the\nSirens; lovely they were of aspect, and gracious of mien; but all\naround them were piled the bones of men who had fallen victims to\ntheir wicked wit,[1] fleshless ribs, from which the skin still hung in\nyellow shreds, and grinning skulls, gazing with eyeless sockets at the\nsea.\n\n[Footnote 1: Shakespeare, \"Hamlet.\"]\n\nAs the ship drew near, the whole choir lifted up their voices and\nbegan to sing a sweet and piercing strain, which thrilled the very\nmarrow of Odysseus as he listened. The winds hovered near on flagging\nwing, the sea lay locked in deep repose, and all nature paused with\nattentive ear, to catch the SONG OF THE SIRENS.\n\n  \"Mighty warrior, sage renowned,\n    Turn, O turn thy bark this way!\n  Rest upon this holy ground,\n    Listen to the Sirens' lay.\n  Never yet was seaman found\n    Passing our enchanted bay,\n  But he paused, and left our bound\n    Filled with wisdom from his stay.\n  All we know, whatever befell\n    On the tented fields of Troy,\n  All the lore that Time can tell,\n    All the mystic fount of joy.\"\n\nIt was a strain cunningly calculated to flatter a deep, subtle spirit\nlike that of Odysseus. To know all! to read all secrets, and unravel\nthe tangled skein of human destiny! What a bribe was this to this\nrestless and eager mind! Then the voices of the witch-women were so\nliquid, and the music so lovely, that they took the very air with\nravishment, and melted the hearer's soul within him. Odysseus\nstruggled to break his bonds, and nodded to his men to come and loose\nhim. But they, who had been warned of this very thing, rose up and\nbound him with fresh cords. Then they grasped their oars again, the\nwater roared under their sturdy strokes, and soon they were out of\nhearing of that seductive melody.\n\nThey had not long lost sight of the Sirens' Rocks when they heard the\nbooming of breakers, which warned them that the fearful strait between\nScylla and Charybdis was close at hand. A strong current caught the\ngalley and whirled her with appalling swiftness towards the point of\ndanger. The water boiled and eddied around them, and the blinding\nspray was dashed into their faces. Then a sudden panic came upon the\ncrew, so that they dropped their oars, and sat helpless and unnerved,\nexpecting instant death. In this emergency, Odysseus summoned up all\nhis courage, and strode up and down between the benches, exhorting,\nentreating, and calling each man by name. \"Why sit ye thus,\" he cried,\n\"huddled together like sheep? Row, men, row for your lives! And thou,\nhelmsman, steer straight for the passage, lest we fall into a direr\nstrait, and be crushed between the Wandering Rocks. We have faced a\nworse peril than this, when we were penned together in the Cyclops'\ncave; and we shall escape this time also, if only ye will keep a stout\nheart.\"\n\nCirce had cautioned Odysseus on no account to attempt resistance when\nhe approached the cave of Scylla; nevertheless, he put on his armour,\nand took his stand on the prow of the vessel, holding in each hand a\nlance.\n\nSo on they sped, steering close to the tall cliff under which Scylla\nlay hid, and gazing fearfully at the boiling whirlpool on the other\nside. Just as they passed, a huge column of water shot into the air,\nbelched up from the vast maw of Charybdis, and the galley was half\nswamped under a fountain of falling water. When that ended, a black\nyawning chasm appeared, the very throat, as it seemed, of Charybdis,\ninto which the water rushed in a roaring torrent.\n\nOdysseus was gazing intently at this wondrous sight when he heard a\nsharp cry, and, looking back he saw six of his men, the stoutest of\nthe crew, dangling high in the air, firmly clutched in the six\nsharklike jaws of Scylla. There they hung for a moment, like fishes\njust caught by the angler's hook; the next instant they were dragged\ninto the black mouth of the cavern, calling with their last breath on\ntheir leader's name. This was the most pitiful thing that Odysseus had\never beheld, in all his long years of travel on the sea.\n\nIII\n\nThe last trial was now at hand, and if they could stand this final\ntest a happy home-coming was promised to them all. By next day's dawn\nthey ran down to the fair isle of Helios, and as they drew near they\nheard the lowing of oxen and the bleating of sheep. Then Odysseus\nremembered the warnings of Circe and Teiresias, and sought to persuade\nhis men to sail past the island and fly from the reach of temptation.\nBut they murmured against him, and Eurylochus, his lieutenant, gave\nvoice to their feelings thus: \"Thou man of iron, thou hast no pity on\nus, but thinkest that we are all as hardy and as strong as thou art.\nHungry and weary as we are, wouldst thou have us turn away from this\nfair isle, where we could prepare a comfortable meal, and take\nrefreshing sleep? Shall we add the horrors of night to the horrors of\nthe sea, and confront the demons of storm that haunt the caverns of\ndarkness? Nay, suffer us to abide here to-night, and to-morrow we will\nhoist sail again.\"\n\nOdysseus saw by the looks of his men that it would be useless to\nstrain his authority, and so he gave way, though with sore reluctance,\nonly exacting a solemn oath from the whole company that they would\nkeep their hands off the cattle of Helios. When each in turn had taken\nthe oath they landed on the shore of a sheltered bay, and encamped by\na fair spring of fresh water.\n\nDuring the night it began to blow hard, and early next morning, as the\nweather was still stormy and the wind contrary, they hauled up their\ngalley and bestowed her in a roomy cave, beyond the reach of wind and\nwater. Odysseus repeated his warnings, and the crew then dispersed, to\nwhile away the time until the weather should mend.\n\nFor a whole month they had nothing but contrary gales from the south\nand east, and long before that time had run out they had come to the\nend of their store of provisions. For some time they contrived to live\non the fish which they caught by angling from the rocks, though this\nwas but poor fare for the robust appetites of those heroic days.\n\nAll this time Odysseus kept a careful watch over the movements of his\nmen, fearing that they might be driven by hunger to break the oath\nwhich they had taken. But one morning he wandered away to a distant\npart of the island, that he might spend an hour in solitary prayer and\nmeditation. Having found a secluded spot, he washed his hands, and\nprayed earnestly to the gods for succour: and when he had prayed,\nheaven so ordered it that he fell into a deep sleep.\n\nThen the demon of mischief entered into the heart of Eurylochus, a\nfactious knave, who had more than once thwarted the counsels of\nOdysseus. \"Comrades,\" he said, \"let us make an end of this misery.\nDeath in any shape is loathly to us poor mortals, but death by hunger\nis the most hideous of all. Come, let us take the choicest of the\nherds of Helios, and feast upon them, after sacrifice to the gods.\nWhen we return to Ithaca we will build a temple to Helios, and appease\nhim with rich offerings. And even though he choose to wreck our ship\nand drown us all, I would rather swallow the brine, and so make an\nend, than waste away by inches on a desert island.\"\n\nThe famishing sailors lent a ready ear to his words, and having picked\nout the fattest of the oxen they slaughtered them and offered\nsacrifice, plucking the leaves of an oak as a substitute for the\nbarley-meal for sprinkling between the horns of the victims, and\npouring libations of water instead of wine. When the vain rite was\nfinished, they spitted slices of the meat, and roasted them over the\nglowing embers.\n\nMeanwhile Odysseus had awakened from his sleep, and made his way, not\nwithout forebodings of ill, back to the camp. As he approached, the\nsteam of roasting meat was borne to his nostrils. \"Woe is me!\" he\ncried, \"the deed is done! What a price must we now pay for one hour of\nsleep.\"\n\nVengeance, indeed, was already prepared. Helios received prompt news\nof the sacrilege from one of the nymphs who had charge of his flocks\nand herds, and hastened to Olympus to demand speedy punishment for the\ntransgressors, vowing that if they escaped he would leave the earth in\ndarkness and carry the lamp of day to the nether world. Zeus promised\nthat the retribution should be swift and complete, and Helios\nthereupon returned immediately to his daily round, knowing full well\nthat the father of gods would keep his word.\n\nWhen Odysseus entered the camp he rebuked his men bitterly for their\nimpiety. But no words, and no repentance, could now repair the\nmischief; the cattle were slain, and in that very hour dire portents\noccurred, to show them the enormity of their crime. A strange moaning\nsound, like the lowing of kine, came from the meat on the spits, and\nthe hides of the slaughtered beasts crawled and writhed.\n\nIn spite of these dreadful omens they continued for six days to feast\nupon the herds of Helios. On the seventh day the wind blew fair, and\nthey launched their vessel and continued their voyage. The last\nvestige of the island had hardly been lost to view when the sky became\nblack with clouds, and a violent squall struck the ship, snapping her\nmast, which fell upon the helmsman, and dashed out his brains. A\nmoment after, a deafening peal of thunder broke overhead, and the\navenging bolt of Zeus fell upon the ship, scattering her timbers, and\nstrewing the charred carcasses of the crew upon the waves.\n\nOdysseus alone escaped with his life from that tremendous stroke, and\nclinging to a spar floated all day, until he came in sight of the\nstrait between Scylla and Charybdis. By the favour of heaven he was\nonce more preserved from this great peril, and on the tenth day after\nthe loss of his vessel he was thrown ashore by the waves on the island\nof Calypso.\n\n\n\n\nOdysseus lands in Ithaca\n\nI\n\nThe last farewell has been spoken, the good ship is loosed from her\nmoorings, and Alcinous is standing on the quay, surrounded by the\nnobles of Ph\u00e6acia, to bid his illustrious guest god-speed. The picked\ncrew bend to their oars, and the galley leaps forward, like a mettled\nsteed who knows his master's voice. The setting sun is just gilding\nthe towers of the city as they cross the harbour bar. Swift as a\nfalcon the magic vessel skims over the swelling waters, and the\ntoil-worn hero lays him down to rest on a soft couch prepared for him\nin the stern. Then a deep and deathlike sleep falls upon him, and he\nlies breathing gently as an infant, while the soft southern breeze\nplays with his dark clustering hair.\n\nThere is a certain haven in the island of Ithaca, protected by two\nlofty headlands, leaving a narrow passage between them. Within, the\nwater is so still that ships lie there without moorings, safe and\nmotionless. At the head of the haven is a long-leaved olive-tree,\novershadowing a cool and pleasant cave, sacred to the \"Nymphs called\nNaiads, of the running brooks.\"[1] Inside the cave are bowls and\npitchers of stone, and great stone looms, at which the Naiads weave\ntheir fine fabrics of sea-purple dye. It is a favourite haunt of the\nhoney-bee, whose murmurs mingled with the splashing of perennial\nsprings make drowsy music in the place. There are two gates to the\ncavern, one towards the north, where mortal feet may pass, and the\nother on the south side, which none may enter save the gods alone.\n\n[Footnote 1: Shakespeare, \"Tempest.\"]\n\nThe day-star was gazing on that still, glassy mere as the Ph\u00e6acians\nsteered between the sentinel cliffs and drove their galley ashore in\nfront of the cave. They lifted Odysseus, still sleeping, from the\nstern, and laid him down gently, couch and all, on the sand. Then they\nbrought all the rich gifts, and set them down by the root of the\nolive-tree, out of the reach of any chance wayfarer; and having\nbestowed all safely they launched their ship, and started on their\nvoyage home.\n\nBut they were destined to pay dear for their good service to the\nstranger. Poseidon marked their course with a jealous eye, and he went\nto his brother, Zeus, and thus preferred his complaint: \"Behold now\nthis man hath reached home in safety and honour, and brought the oath\nto naught which I sware against him, when I vowed that he should\nreturn to Ithaca in evil plight! Is my power to be defied, and my\nworship slighted, by these Ph\u00e6acians, who are of mine own race?\"\n\n\"Thine honour is in thine own hands,\" answered Zeus. \"Assert thy\npower, lift up thy hand and strike, that all men may fear to infringe\nthy privilege as lord of the sea.\"\n\nHaving thus obtained his brother's consent, Poseidon went and took his\nstand by the harbour mouth at Ph\u00e6acia, and as soon as the vessel drew\nnear he smote her with his hand, and turned her with all her crew into\na rock, which remains there, rooted in the sea, unto this day.\n\nII\n\nTwilight had not yielded to day when Odysseus awoke from his\ntrancelike sleep, and gazed in bewilderment around him. His senses had\nnot yet fully come back to him, and after his twenty years' absence he\nknew not where he was. All seemed strange--the winding paths, the\nharbour, the cliffs, and the very trees. With a cry of dismay he\nsprang to his feet, and cried aloud: \"Good lack, what land have I come\nto now, and who be they that dwell there? Are they savage and rude, or\ngentle and hospitable to strangers?\" Then his eye fell on the gifts\nwhich had been brought with him from Ph\u00e6acia. What was he to do with\nall this wealth? \"Now this is a sorry trick which the Ph\u00e6acians have\nplayed me,\" he muttered again, \"to carry me to a strange land, when\nthey had promised to convey me safe to Ithaca.\"\n\nSo unworthily did Odysseus deem of his benefactors that he fell to\ncounting his goods, for fear lest they should have carried off a\nportion of the gifts while he slept. He found the tale complete, and\nwhen he had finished counting them he wandered disconsolate along the\nsand, mourning for the country which he thought still far away. As he\nwent thus, with heavy steps and downcast eyes, a shadow fell across\nhis path, and looking up he saw a fair youth, clad and armed like a\nyoung prince, who stood before him and smiled in his face with kindly\neyes. Glad to meet anyone of so friendly an aspect, Odysseus greeted\nhim, asked for his countenance and protection, and inquired the name\nof the country.\n\n\"Either thou art simple,\" answered the youth, \"or thy home is far\naway, if thou knowest not this land. It is a place not unknown to\nfame, but named with honour wherever mortal speech is heard. Rugged\nindeed it is, and unfit for horses and for chariots, but rich in corn\nand wine, and blessed by the soft rain of heaven. On its green\npastures roam countless flocks and herds, and streams pour their\nabundance from its forest-clad hills. Therefore the name of Ithaca is\nspoken far and wide, and hath reached even to the distant land of\nTroy.\"\n\nThe wanderer's heart burned within him when he heard his dear native\nisland described with such loving praise. But dissembling his joy he\nset his nimble wits to work, and began to spin a fine fiction for the\nstranger's ear. \"I have heard of Ithaca,\" he said, \"as thou sayest,\neven in Troy, where I fought under Idomeneus, King of Crete. And now I\nam an exile, flying from the vengeance of Idomeneus, whose son,\nOrsilochus, I slew, because he sought to deprive me of my share in the\nTrojan spoil. For he bore a grudge against me, because I would not pay\ncourt to his father at Troy, but made a party of my own, and fought\nfor my own hand. For him I laid an ambush, and slew him in a secret\nplace, under cover of night. Then I fled down to the sea, and bribed\nthe crew of a Phoenician ship to carry me and my goods to Pylos. But\nthe storm wind drove them out of their course, and they put in here\nfor shelter. Sore battered and weary we landed here, having hardly\nescaped with our lives; and while I slept they brought my goods\nashore, and sailed away for Sidon, leaving me alone with my sorrow.\"\n\nIntent on his tale, Odysseus had not noticed the sudden change which\nhad come over his hearer; for his eyes had been turned away, as he\nstrove to spell out the features of the country, which still seemed\nunfamiliar. Now he looked round again, and instead of that dainty\nyouth he saw a stately female form, tall and fair, in aspect like the\nmighty goddess Athene. And in truth it was the daughter of Zeus\nherself who answered him, smiling and touching him with a playful\ngesture. \"Thou naughty rogue!\" she said, \"wilt thou never forget thy\ncunning shifts, wherein none can surpass thee, no, not the gods\nthemselves? Yea, thou hast a knavish wit, and no man can equal thee in\ncraft, as no god can rival me. Yet for all thy skill thou knewest me\nnot for Pallas Athene, who is ever near thee in all thy trials, and\nmade thee dear to all the Ph\u00e6acians. And now am I come to help thee\nhide thy goods, and weave a plot to ensnare the foes who beset thy\nhouse. Thou hast still much to endure, before thy final triumph, and\nthou must enter thy halls as a stranger, and suffer many things by the\nhands of violent men.\"\n\n\"It is hard, O goddess,\" answered Odysseus, \"for a mortal man to know\nthee, keen though he be of wit; for thou appearest in a hundred\nshapes. Yet well I know that thou wast kind to me in days of old, when\nI fought with the Greeks at Troy. But since that time I have never\nseen thee, in all my wanderings and perils, save once in Ph\u00e6acia. Now\ntell me truly, I implore thee, what is this place where I am\nwandering? Thou saidst 'twas Ithaca, but in that I think thou speakest\nfalsely, with intent to deceive me; or is this indeed my native land?\"\n\n\"Ever the same Odysseus as of old,\" said Athene, smiling again,\n\"cautious and wary, and hard to convince. Verily thou art a man after\nmine own heart, and therefore can I never leave thee or forsake thee\nin all thy cares. Any other man would have rushed to embrace his wife,\nafter so many years of wandering; but thou must needs prove her and\nmake trial of her constancy, before thou takest her to thy heart. And\nif thou wouldst know why I held aloof from thee so long, it was\nbecause of Poseidon, my father's brother, who ever pursued thee with\nhis ire. Yet I knew that thou wouldst return at last, and have waited\npatiently for that hour, And now I will open thine eyes, that thou\nmayest know the land of thy birth.\"\n\nAs she spoke she touched his eyes, and a mist seemed to fall away from\nthem, so that he recognised every feature of the place, the slopes of\nNeritus, waving with forest trees, the spreading olive-tree, the\nharbour, and the cavern where he had many a time sacrificed to the\nnymphs. Then Odysseus rejoiced in spirit, and kneeling down he kissed\nhis native soil, and put up a prayer to the guardian deities of the\nplace: \"Greeting, lovely Naiads, maiden daughters of Zeus! Ne'er hoped\nI to see your faces again, Give ear unto my prayer, and if I live and\nprosper by the favour of Athene I will pay you rich offerings, as I\nwas wont to do.\"\n\n\"Doubt not my good-will,\" said Athene, when he had finished; \"that is\nassured thee. But it is time to secure these goods of thine in a safe\nhiding-place. After that we will advise what is next to be done.\"\n\nWith that she dived into the cave, closely followed by Odysseus, and\nshowed him where he best might conceal his treasure. When all was\nsafely bestowed, she set a great stone in the mouth of the cavern, and\nsat down at the foot of the olive-tree, motioning Odysseus to take his\nplace at her side. \"Now mark my words,\" began Athene, \"thou hast a\nheavy task before thee, to purge thy house of the shameless crew who\nfor three years past have held the mastery there, and sought to tempt\nthy wife from her loyalty to thee. All this time she has been putting\nthem off with promises which she has no mind to fulfil.\"\n\n\"Tis well,\" answered Odysseus, \"that thou hast warned me; else had I\nfallen in my own hall, even as Agamemnon fell. But come, contrive some\ncunning device, whereby I may avenge me, and be thou at my side to aid\nme, that my heart fail me not. Pour into me the same might and the\nsame valour as when we sacked Priam's royal citadel; then should I\nfear nothing, though I fought single-handed against three hundred\nmen.\"\n\n\"I will not fail thee, of that be sure,\" replied Athene, \"when the\ntime comes to enter on that task. They shall pay full dear for thy\nsubstance which they devour, even with their very blood and brains,\nwhich shall be shed upon the ground like water. But thou must not\nappear among them in this fashion. I will give thee a disguise which\nnone can penetrate, not even Penelope herself. And when thou leavest\nthis place, go first to the swineherd, who abides ever by his charge,\nfaithful to thee and to thy house. Thou wilt find him sitting by the\nswine on their feeding ground, near Raven's Rock and the fountain\nArethusa, where there is abundance of acorns and fair water. Remain\nthere and inquire of him concerning all things, while I go to Sparta\nto summon Telemachus, thy son, who went to visit Menelaus to ask news\nof thee.\"\n\n\"Why didst thou permit him to go on a vain errand?\" asked Odysseus.\n\"Was it that he might suffer as I have suffered, in wandering o'er the\ndeep, while others devour his living?\"\n\n\"Be not over anxious for him,\" answered Athene; \"I myself sent him on\nthat quest, that he might win a good name among men. And now he sits\nsecure in the wealthy house of Menelaus, dwelling in luxury and\nhonour. The wooers have laid an ambush against his return; but all\ntheir malice shall be brought to naught.\"\n\nIt was now time for Odysseus to start on his way to the swineherd. But\nfirst he had to submit to a strange transformation. Athene touched him\nwith a rod which she was carrying, and instantly the flesh shrivelled\non his limbs, the clustering locks fell away from his head, and the\nkeen, piercing glance of his eyes was quenched. He who a moment before\nhad been a mighty man in his prime was now become a wrinkled, aged\nbeggar, clad in miserable, grimy rags, with a staff, and a tattered\nscrip, hanging by a cord from his shoulder. For a cloak she gave him\nan old deer's hide, from which all the hair was gone. Thus totally\ndisguised, he parted from the goddess, and started inland, following a\nrugged mountain path, while Athene went to summon Telemachus from\nSparta.\n\n\n\n\nOdysseus and Eum\u00e6us\n\n\nI\n\nThe office of swineherd was a position of great trust and importance\namong the patriarchal chieftains of Homeric Greece. The principal diet\nwas the flesh of swine and oxen, and these animals formed the chief\npart of their wealth. Eum\u00e6us, the chief swineherd of Odysseus, lived\napart in a lonely place among the hills, where he had enclosed a wide\nspace of ground with a stone fence defended at the top with brambles,\nand in front by a palisade of oak. Within the fence were twelve styes,\nand in each stye were fifty sows with their young. The boars had their\nquarters outside the enclosure, and their number had been greatly\ndiminished by the constant demand for hog's flesh among the suitors.\nStill, they reached the formidable total of three hundred and fifty--a\nnoisy and ravenous multitude.\n\nIt was no light task to provide shelter for nearly a thousand swine,\nwith their young; yet Eum\u00e6us had undertaken this duty during his\nmaster's long absence, without the knowledge of Laertes or Penelope.\nAnd here he was sitting, on this sunny morning, cutting up a\nwell-tanned ox-hide to make straps for sandals, while four dogs, large\nand fierce as wolves, prowled near at hand. Three of his helpers were\ngone with the swine to their feeding ground, and the fourth had been\nsent to the town with a fat hog for the wooers.\n\nSuddenly the dogs rushed forward, baying furiously, and an old man in\ntattered raiment appeared at the gate of the courtyard. It would have\ngone hard with the stranger if Eum\u00e6us had not promptly come to the\nrescue, and driven the dogs off with a volley of stones. \"Old man,\"\nsaid Eum\u00e6us, as the dogs slunk away yelping, \"it was well that I was\nnear, or thou hadst surely been torn to pieces, and brought shame on\nme. I have trouble enough without that. Here I sit, fattening my\nmaster's swine for other men's tables, while he wanders, perchance,\namong strangers, in poverty and want. But come into my hut, and when\nthou hast comforted thy soul with meat and wine thou shalt tell thy\ntale of sorrow.\"\n\nOdysseus (for he it was, though sorely disfigured) followed Eum\u00e6us\ninto the hut, and sat down on a shaggy goatskin, which the swineherd\nspread for him on a heap of brushwood. \"Heaven bless thee,\" he said,\nwhen he was seated, \"for this kindly welcome!\" \"I do but my duty,\"\nanswered Eum\u00e6us. \"The stranger and the beggar are sacred, by law\ndivine. 'Tis but little that I can do, who serve young and haughty\nmasters, in the absence of my true lord, who would have rewarded me\nnobly, and given me a plot of ground and a wife, had he been here to\nsee how Heaven blesses the work of my hands. But he is gone to swell\nthe host of those who fell in Helen's cause. Cursed be she, and all\nher race, for she hath robbed me of the kindest master that ever man\nserved.\"\n\nIn the midst of his sorrow, Eum\u00e6us forgot not his duties as host.\nGoing out he took two young swine, slaughtered and dressed them, and\nset the flesh, all smoking on the spits, before Odysseus. Then he\nmixed wine in a bowl of ivy wood, and sitting down opposite to his\nguest bade him eat and drink.\n\n\"'Tis but poor fare which I have to offer you,\" he said. \"The best of\nthe herd ever goes to the young lords who are wooing my mistress.\nTheir wantonness and riot calls aloud to Heaven for vengeance. They\nare worse than the wildest band of robbers that ever lived by open\npillage and violence. Such waste of good meat and wine was never seen\nbefore. For a wealthy man was Odysseus, and his flocks and herds still\nrange over all the hills of Ithaca. And from every flock the fattest\nand the choicest is driven off day by day to feed their dainty\nmouths.\"\n\nOdysseus fell to with keen appetite, for he had eaten nothing since he\nleft Ph\u00e6acia. And when he had satisfied his hunger he pledged Eum\u00e6us\nin a full cup, and led him on to discourse on his favourite theme--the\nvirtues and the sorrows of his lord. \"Tell me more,\" he said, \"of thy\nmaster. Who knows but that I may have met him in my travels, for I\nhave wandered in many lands.\"\n\n\"Old man,\" answered Eum\u00e6us, \"I see thy bent. Thou wouldst forge some\nglozing tale to beguile the ears of that poor stricken lady, Penelope.\nMany a beggar has come to her doors crammed full of lies to amuse her\nwidowed heart; and she listens, and doubts, and weeps. And thou too,\nmethinks, hast a like fertile fancy; for hunger and want are rare\ninventors. But save thy wits for a better purpose; thou canst not\nbring him back to life, or clothe with warm flesh his bones, long\nsince picked clean by carrion birds or ravenous fish. He is lost for\never, and sorrow is the portion of us who remain, but especially of\nme, for he was dearer to me than father and mother, dearer than my\nnative land.\"\n\n\"Friend,\" said Odysseus, \"thou hast misjudged me sorely, in thinking\nme one of those greedy mendicants who tell lies for the sake of meat\nand drink. Believe me or not, I will say what is in my heart, and when\nmy words are proved true by the event I will claim my reward. Odysseus\nis near at hand, and ere many days have passed he shall be seen in\nIthaca, and take vengeance on those who oppress his wife and son. I\nswear it by this table at which I have eaten, and by the hearth of\nOdysseus, and by Zeus, the god of hospitality.\"\n\nEum\u00e6us remained totally unconvinced by this solemn assertion. \"Talk no\nmore of him,\" he said with emotion, \"it cuts me to the heart to hear\nhis very name. Would that it might be as thou sayest!--but 'tis an\nidle dream. Peace be unto his ashes! And may the gods at least\npreserve unto us his son, Telemachus, who lately departed on a witless\nerrand, led thereto, as I think, by some malign deity who hates the\nhouse of Odysseus. But no more of this! Tell me rather of thyself, who\nand whence thou art, and how thou camest to Ithaca.\"\n\nEum\u00e6us had not extolled the fertile invention of Odysseus for nothing.\nForthwith he began a wondrous tale of adventure, a little epic in\nitself, with some points of resemblance to his own true story. \"I am a\nnative of Crete,\" he began, \"and the son of a wealthy man. When my\nfather died I received but a scanty portion of his goods.\nNevertheless, because of my valour and the might of my hands, I won a\nnoble and wealthy lady for my wife. Thou wouldst not deem, perhaps, to\nsee me now, that I was once a mighty man of war; yet even in the\nstubble we may judge what the wheat has been. From my youth up I lived\namidst the clash of shield and spear, and loved battle and ambush,\nsiege and foray. But I cared not for plodding industry, which gives\nincrease unto a house, and fills it with the bright faces of children.\nSuch I was as Heaven made me, a man of war and blood.\n\n\"Before the sons of Greece went up to Troy I was nine times chosen\ncaptain of an armed band to make war in the land of strangers, and\ncame back laden with booty, so that my name was known and dreaded in\nCrete. And when the summons went round in all the coasts of Greece to\nfollow the banner of Agamemnon, who but I was chosen by the common\nvoice to share the command with Idomeneus? I was fain to renounce that\nhard and perilous service, but it might not be; so for nine years I\nfought at Troy, and after our return to Crete I abode but one month\nwith my wife and children, for at the end of that time my spirit\ncalled me to Egypt. I manned nine ships, and on the fifth day the\nnorth wind brought me safe with all my company to the land of Nile.\n\n\"Then I sent out a few chosen men to explore the country, and kept\nmyself close with the rest of my force until they should bring back\ntheir report. But my scouts forgot their duty, and carried away by\nlust of plunder began to harry and ravage the fields of the Egyptians.\nQuickly the hue and cry went round, and an armed multitude, both horse\nand foot, came suddenly upon us, breathing fury and vengeance. We\ncould make no stand against such a host, and all my comrades were\nspeedily slain or taken captive. When I saw that all was lost I threw\naway helmet and shield, dropped my spear, and falling on my knees\nbefore the chief captain of the Egyptians begged him to spare my life.\nHe heard my petition, set me on his chariot, and brought me to his\nhome. There I remained seven years and gathered much wealth; for I had\nfound favour in the eyes of the Egyptians, and they gave me freely of\ntheir possessions.\n\n\"In the eighth year there came a certain Phoenician to Egypt, a crafty\nand covetous rogue, and he persuaded me to go with him to Phoenicia.\nSo I went, and abode with him a whole year, and when the spring came\nround again I sailed with him to Africa, whither he was bound with a\nfreight of merchandise. His purpose was to sell me in Africa as a\nslave for a great price; but Zeus willed it otherwise, for as we\nsailed southwards from Crete a great storm arose, and the ship went\ndown with all her men, while I escaped by clinging to the mast, and\nafter nine days was carried by the winds and the waves to Thesprotia,\nwhere I was kindly entreated by the king of that country.\n\n\"There I had news of Odysseus, who had touched at that coast on his\nvoyage to Ithaca, and stayed as a guest in that same house. This I\nheard from the king's own lips, and he showed me all the treasure\nwhich Odysseus had left in his charge, while he himself went on a\njourney to Dodona, to inquire of the oracle concerning the manner of\nhis return. Thou wouldst wonder to behold all the wealth which thy\nlord had gathered, an exceeding great store.\n\n\"Odysseus himself I saw not; for it chanced that a ship was sailing\nfor Dulichium, and the king commended me to her captain, bidding him\ncarry me thither with all care and tenderness. Now this man was a\nvillain, and be devised evil against me; for when we left the coast of\nThesprotia, he stripped me of the raiment which the king had given me,\nclothed me in these rags, and bound me with cords, intending to sell\nme as a slave. In the evening he landed in Ithaca, leaving me, bound\nas I was, in the ship. But I broke my bonds, and escaped by swimming\nto another part of the coast, where I lay all night in a thicket. In\nthe morning they sought me with great outcry, but found me not; and\nafter awhile they sailed away. When they were gone I arose, and was\nled by Heaven's hand to thy doors.\"\n\nThe swineherd listened attentively to the well-imagined tale, and when\nit was ended he said: \"Hapless man, thou hast been the very sport of\nDestiny, and my heart is big when I think of thy wanderings and thy\nwoes. But as touching Odysseus, that part of thy story likes me not;\nmethinks 'tis a cunning invention to flatter my ears. Long ago I was\ndeceived by a false report, brought hither by a wandering exile like\nthee, who said that he had seen Odysseus repairing his ships in Crete,\nand bade us look for his coming in the autumn of that year. Since then\nI have closed my ears against all such rumours, and therefore I say,\ntell me no more of him, for I cannot and will not believe but that he\nis dead.\"\n\nII\n\nEvening was now coming on, and it was time for the herdsmen to return\nwith their charge from the feeding-ground. Presently, with huge\ncommotion, and multitudinous din, the swine were driven home and\npenned in their styes. Then Eum\u00e6us called to his helpers, and bade\nthem bring the best of the herd to make savoury meat for his guest\n\"Spare not,\" he said, \"to bring the fattest and choicest of them all,\nfor why should we be careful, when strangers devour our labour?\" So\nthey brought a hog of five years old, exceeding fat, and having\nslaughtered it they offered sacrifice, not forgetting a prayer for the\nreturn of Odysseus. When all rites of religion were duly paid, they\nroasted the flesh, and served it on wooden platters. Odysseus was\nhonoured by Eum\u00e6us with a choice portion of the loin.\n\nWhen they had finished, night came on, dark and stormy, with furious\ngusts of rain and wind. Just as they were about to retire to rest,\nOdysseus, who seldom spoke without a purpose, turned to his kind host\nand said: \"Eum\u00e6us, the good wine has loosened my tongue, and moved me\nto tell thee a story of long ago, when these withered limbs were in\ntheir lusty prime, and my heart burned with the fire of youth. Then I\nwas chosen with Menelaus and Odysseus to lead an ambush under the\nwalls of Troy. With a picked company we took up our position in a\nmarshy place, and lay down in our armour among the rushes. It was a\nbitter night, with snow and frost, and our shields were soon coated\nwith ice. Now it chanced that I had left my cloak in the camp, and\nwhile the others lay warm in their thick woollen mantles, I was\nperishing with cold. At last I could bear it no longer, so I nudged\nOdysseus, who was lying next to me, with my elbow, and said to him:\n'Son of Laertes, the cold is killing me. I came in my folly without a\ncloak, and I can never hold out until dawn in this cruel frost.' And\nhe, ever ready of wit as he was, instantly contrived means to relieve\nme. Whispering to me to keep counsel he rose on his elbow, and called\nto the others, saying: 'Comrades, I have been warned in a dream that\nour numbers are too weak for the task which has been laid upon us.\nWill not one of you run down to the camp, and ask Agamemnon to send us\nfurther succour?'\n\n\"Thereupon one of our men arose, and flinging off his cloak ran off to\ncarry the message to Agamemnon. And I lay wrapped in the garment, warm\nand safe, until the dawn. Ah! those were brave days; what changes have\nI seen since then!\"\n\n\"I read thy meaning,\" said Eum\u00e6us; \"and as a reward for thy good story\nthou shalt sleep in comfort to-night. But to-morrow thou must make\nshift to wear thine own rags again, for I am but ill furnished with\nchanges of raiment. When Telemachus returns he will supply all thy\nwants, and send thee whithersoever thou art minded to go.\"\n\nSo saying he drew a truckle-bed close to the fire, and heaped it with\nthe skins of sheep and goats. There Odysseus lay down to rest, and\nEum\u00e6us threw over him a stout mantle of his own. All the other\nherdsmen slept in the hut; but Eum\u00e6us, ever watchful for his master's\nproperty, went out, armed to the teeth, to pass the night among the\nswine, under the shelter of a hollow rock, which kept off the cold\nnorth wind. And Odysseus was glad when he saw that good servant so\nfaithful to his trust.\n\n\n\n\nThe Return of Telemachus\n\n\nI\n\nWhile these important events were happening in Ithaca, Telemachus was\nliving as an honoured guest in the house of Menelaus. One night, while\nhe lay between sleeping and waking, full of anxious thought, Athene\nappeared to him in her own person, and addressed him thus: \"Thou\nlingerest too long here, Telemachus. It is time for thee to return and\nkeep an eye on thy goods, lest thou be stripped of all in thy absence.\nThy mother's kinsmen are urgent with her to wed Eurymachus, the\nwealthiest of the wooers; and, if she yield, it may be that she will\ntake of thy heritage to increase the house of the man who wins her.\nTherefore make haste and get thee home, that thou mayest be at hand to\ndefend thy rights. Know also that the wooers are lying in wait for\nthee in the strait between Ithaca and Samos, with intent to slay thee;\ntake heed then that thou shun that passage, and sail home by another\nway. And when thou art come to Ithaca, go straight to the dwelling of\nEum\u00e6us, and send him down to Penelope with news of thy return.\"\n\nSuch a message, brought by such a messenger, was not to be neglected.\nTelemachus at once roused Pisistratus, the son of Nestor, who was\nsleeping near, and declared his intention of starting at once; but\nwhen Pisistratus pointed out how displeasing such conduct would be to\ntheir princely host he consented to wait till morning.\n\nAccordingly, when day was come, he went to Menelaus, and asked leave\nto depart at once. Menelaus consented, only insisting that he should\nremain for the morning meal. While this was preparing, the generous\nprince went to his treasure chamber, and returned laden with a\nsplendid silver bowl, the work of Phoenician artists, which he had\nreceived when he visited the King of Sidon on his voyage from Troy.\nAnd Helen brought an embroidered robe, the work of her own fair hands,\nas a wedding gift for his future bride.\n\nAs soon as they had eaten they mounted the chariot, and drove slowly\nthrough the outer gate of the courtyard, Menelaus and Helen following\non foot Here they drew up to say farewell, and Menelaus pledged them\nin a bowl of wine, wishing them god-speed. \"And forget not,\" he added,\n\"to greet Nestor for me when ye come to Pylos, for he was ever gentle\nto me as a father when we sojourned in the land of Troy.\"\n\n\"I will not forget to carry thy message,\" answered Telemachus; \"would\nthat I were as sure to see my father when I come to Ithaca, that I\nmight tell him of thy noble hospitality, and show him thy gifts.\"\n\nHardly had the words been uttered when a clamour of voices was heard,\nand a crowd of men and women ran past, pursuing with loud cries an\neagle, which had just seized a great white goose from the courtyard,\nand was carrying her off in his talons. Straight over the chariot he\nflew, and with a scream of triumph sped away to the mountains with his\nbooty. \"Consider now, my prince,\" said Pisistratus, \"whether this omen\nwas sent to us or to thee.\"\n\nMenelaus, who was somewhat slow of wit, paused to deliberate; but\nbefore he could frame an answer, the quick brain of Helen was ready\nwith an interpretation. \"The eagle is thy father, Odysseus,\" she said\nto Telemachus, \"and the meaning of the omen is that he is already in\nIthaca, or close at hand, bringing death and doom to his foes.\"\n\nThus encouraged by fair portents, they took leave of their kind hosts,\nand started on their way to Pylos, where they arrived on the following\nday. As they drew near to the house of Nestor, Telemachus begged his\nfriend to drive straight down to the sea. \"For I know,\" he said, \"that\nthy father will constrain me to abide with him, and will take no\ndenial; and I wish to embark for Ithaca without further delay.\"\nPisistratus agreed, and avoiding the house of Nestor they passed on to\nthe place where the ship lay moored.\n\nHaving summoned his crew, Telemachus was preparing to embark, when a\nman armed and equipped as a traveller approached the vessel, and\ninquired who he was and whither he was bound. Having received an\nanswer, he requested Telemachus to carry him to Ithaca. \"My name,\" he\nsaid, \"is Theoclymenus, and I am descended from Melampus, the famous\nseer, from whom I have inherited the prophetic gift. I am an exile\nfrom my native land of Argos, for I have slain a man of my own tribe,\nand am flying from the avenger of blood. Set me, I pray thee, on thy\nship, and take me with you, for sore is my need.\"\n\n\"Heaven forbid,\" answered Telemachus, \"that I should deny thee, seeing\nthat thy very life is at stake. Make haste, and come on board\"; and he\nmade room for the stranger to sit by him in the stern of the vessel.\n\nAfter a quick and prosperous voyage they sighted the coast of Ithaca,\nand landed on a deserted part of the coast within easy reach of the\nswineherd's dwelling. Here Telemachus dismissed his company, bidding\nthem take the galley round to the harbour of Ithaca, and promising to\nreward them for their good service. He was just about to depart when\nTheoclymenus detained him and asked where he was to find shelter.\nTelemachus answered in some embarrassment. \"'Twere no friendly act,\"\nhe said, \"to send thee to my house, for my mother lives apart in her\nown chamber and sees no man, and I fear lest thou suffer some harm\nfrom the lawless men who riot in my halls. Therefore I advise thee to\ngo to Eurymachus, who is now the most powerful man in Ithaca, and\nhopes to sit in my father's seat; but perchance Zeus will send him\nanother issue of his wooing.\"\n\nJust as he spoke a rushing of wings was heard on the right, and they\nsaw a falcon passing close at hand with a dove clutched in his talons,\nand tearing his prey so that the feathers fluttered down at their\nfeet. Then Theoclymenus, who was deeply skilled in augury, drew\nTelemachus apart and said: \"It is a manifest sign of victory to thee\nand to thy house.\" \"May Heaven fulfil thy prophecy,\" answered\nTelemachus, \"and if thy words prove true I will load thee with\nbenefits, and give thee cause to bless this hour.\" Being now convinced\nthat he had found a friend, he called Peir\u00e6us, in whom he had full\nconfidence, and bade him take Theoclymenus under his care until he\nhimself returned to the town. Peir\u00e6us readily undertook the charge,\nand this point being settled they thrust out from the shore and rowed\naway in the direction of the harbour, while Telemachus strode off with\nrapid footsteps along the path which led to the swineherd's hut.\n\nII\n\nOn the evening before the arrival of Telemachus Odysseus was sitting\nafter supper with Eum\u00e6us and the other herdsmen, and wishing to learn\nthe purpose of Eum\u00e6us towards him he said: \"I will no longer be a\nburden to thee and thy fellows. To-morrow I will go to the town and\nbeg my living, if thou wilt send one of thy men to show me the way.\nPerchance also I might visit the house of Odysseus, and have speech\nwith Penelope. And it may be that the wooers will take me into their\nservice, for I would have thee know that by favour of Hermes I am\nright skilful of my hands, and no one can match me in laying a fire\nand cleaving dry logs, in carving and roasting meat, and in pouring of\nwine.\"\n\nBut this proposal found no favour with the honest swineherd. \"Who put\nsuch a thought,\" he asked, \"into thy mind? Serve with the wooers! They\nwould put a speedy end to thy service, and pay thee thy wages in\nblood. Those who wait upon them are of a different sort from thee--gay\nstriplings, daintily clad, with glossy hair and comely faces. Remain\nwith us until Telemachus comes home; thou art no burden either to me\nor to my men.\"\n\n\"Be it so, then,\" answered Odysseus, \"and may Heaven requite thee for\nthy goodness to a poor homeless outcast, who wanders in misery, driven\nby hunger from door to door! And since I am still to be thy guest,\ntell me something of thy master's mother, and of the father whom he\nleft behind when he went to the wars. Do they still live, or have they\ngone to their rest?\"\n\n\"This also thou shalt know,\" replied Eum\u00e6us. \"Laertes his father still\nlives, though sore stricken with years and sorrows; for his son's long\nabsence and his wife's miserable end have brought him to the verge of\nthe grave. She died long ago, and by such a death as I pray may never\ncome to anyone who is dear to me--she, my kind mistress, who brought\nme up with her youngest daughter, and hardly loved me less. As long as\nshe lived I would often go down to the house, and she ever entertained\nme kindly, and gave me something to carry back with me to my dwelling\non the land. Full well she knew how to sweeten the lot of a thrall\nwith pleasant words, and little acts of tenderness and love. But now I\nseldom leave my charge, for since the wooers brought this curse upon\nmy master's house Penelope hides her face from us, and has no comfort\nfor us either in word or deed.\"\n\nOdysseus listened with deep interest, and when Eum\u00e6us paused he\nexpressed a desire to hear the story of his life. \"How was it,\" he\nasked, \"that already in early childhood thou wast cast on the mercy of\nstrangers? Wast thou taken captive in war, or did robbers seize thee\nas thou satst watching sheep on the lonely hills, and sell thee into\nbondage?\"\n\n\"Fill thy cup,\" answered Eum\u00e6us, \"we will pledge each other in a\nhearty draught, and then thou shalt hear my tale. The nights are long\nat this season, and we shall have time enough to sleep when I have\ndone. Fate has dealt hardly with me, even as with thee; and we can\nfind some comfort in telling over our sorrows to each other.\n\n\"There is a certain island called Syria, lying north of Ortygia, not\nvery large or populous, but a good land, rich in pasture, with waving\ncornfields and goodly vineyards. There famine never comes, nor\nsickness, but all the people reach a good old age, and then die by the\npainless shafts of Artemis or of Apollo. There are two cities which\ndivide the territory equally between them; and there was one king over\nboth, my father, Ctesius, son of Ormenus.\n\n\"When I was still very young there came to the island a Phoenician\nship, laden with trinkets for barter. Now in my father's house was a\nPhoenician woman, tall and fair, and skilled in needlework. She was my\nnurse, and I was wont to run about the town with her. One day, as she\nwas washing clothes not far from the ship, she was recognised by a\nPhoenician sailor as being of his own race, and he inquired how she\ncame to the island. She answered that she was a native of Sidon, and a\nrich man's daughter, stolen from her home by pirates, and sold across\nthe seas. 'And hast thou a mind to see thy native land again?' asked\nthe fellow. 'Thy father and mother still live and prosper'; for she\nhad told him that her father's name was Arybas. 'I will go with you,'\nanswered the woman, 'if ye will swear an oath to carry me home\nunharmed.' They all swore to do as she said, and after that she\ninstructed them how to proceed. 'Keep close counsel,' she said, 'and\nlet none of you seem to know me when ye meet me in the street, nor yet\nby the well, lest anyone tell it to my master; for if he suspects that\naught is amiss it will be the ruin of us all. Lose no time in selling\nyour wares, and when the ship is freighted for her homeward voyage let\none of you come up to the house and give me a sign. I will not come\nempty-handed, but will bring with me vessels of gold to pay for my\npassage. Furthermore, I have charge of my master's child, a knowing\nlittle lad; and, if it be possible, I will bring him with me, that ye\nmay sell him for a great price.'\n\n\"The bargain was struck, and the woman departed. Then for a whole year\nthey remained among us and traded; at last, when they had sold out all\ntheir goods, and stowed their cargo, they sent up a man to my father's\nhouse, to warn the woman that the time was come. He brought with him a\nnecklace of gold and amber, a thing of most rare device; and while my\nmother and her women were handling it, and bargaining for the price,\nthe fellow made a sign to my nurse. When he was gone she took me by\nthe hand and led me with her into the courtyard before the house.\nThere she found tables set with vessels of gold, where my father had\nbeen dining with his guests. They had now gone forth to attend the\ncouncil, and the place was deserted; so she caught up three goblets\nand hid them in her bosom. Then with one rapid glance round, to make\nsure that she was not observed, she hastened down to the spot where\nthe Phoenician ship lay moored; and I, poor child, followed her,\nfearing nothing.\n\n\"Evening was coming on as we reached the shore, and the crew were\nsitting ready at their oars, only waiting for our arrival. They took\nus on board, rowed their galley into open water, and, a strong breeze\nspringing up from the land, they hoisted sail, and were soon beyond\nthe reach of pursuit. On the seventh day of the voyage the hand of\nvengeance fell upon the woman, and she was struck dead by an invisible\nblow. They flung her body to the fishes, and soon after we landed in\nIthaca, where they sold me as a slave to Laertes.\"\n\n\"Twas a sad fate for one of thy tender years,\" remarked Odysseus, when\nEum\u00e6us had finished his story. \"Nevertheless thou wast happy to find\nsuch a master--happier far than I, who am still a vagabond and a\nwanderer in my old age.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Meeting of Telemachus and Odysseus\n\n\nI\n\nEarly next day Eum\u00e6us and Odysseus were preparing their morning meal,\nwhen they heard the sound of footsteps approaching the hut. The hounds\npricked up their ears at the sound, and ran fawning round the\nnew-comer, who was evidently well known to them. Odysseus called to\nEum\u00e6us, who was busy drawing wine, and said: \"Some friend of thine is\ncoming; for the dogs fawn upon him, and bark not.\"\n\nEven as he spoke, a tall figure appeared in the open doorway, and his\nown dear son stood before him. Eum\u00e6us sprang up amazed, and let fall\nthe pitcher into which he had been drawing the wine. Then with a cry\nof joy he ran to greet his young lord, kissed his hands and his face,\nand wept over him. Even as a father yearns over his only son, just\nreturned from abroad after a ten years' absence, so Eum\u00e6us yearned\nover Telemachus, and hailed him as one returned from the dead. \"Thou\nart come, Telemachus,\" he faltered at last, when his emotion suffered\nhim to speak, \"thou art come back again, dear as mine own life! Ne'er\nthought I to see thee again, after thou wast gone to Pylos. Sit thee\ndown, that I may feast mine eyes upon thee; seldom dost thou come this\nway, but abidest in the house, to watch the wasteful deeds of the\nwooers.\"\n\nOdysseus, in his character of beggar, rose respectfully from his seat,\nto make room for the young prince, but Telemachus motioned him to\nresume his place, and sat down himself on a heap of brushwood, on\nwhich the swineherd had spread a fleece. While Eum\u00e6us was bringing\nbread and meat, and filling the cups with wine, Telemachus questioned\nhim as to his mother, and learnt that no change had occurred in her\nrelation to the wooers since he left Ithaca. Breakfast being over,\nEum\u00e6us, in answer to his inquiry, told him the story of the supposed\nstranger. \"I have done what I could for him,\" he added, when he had\nrepeated what he had heard from Odysseus. \"Now I deliver him unto\nthee, to do with him as thou wilt; all his hopes are in thy grace.\"\n\n\"What can I do?\" answered Telemachus, in perplexity. \"Thou knowest\nthat I am not master in my own house, and my mother is torn between\ntwo purposes: whether to wait still in patience for her lord's coming,\nor to choose a new husband from the noblest of the suitors. Neither\nshe nor I can give protection to such a guest as this. Therefore I\nwill bestow upon him a new cloak and doublet, with sandals for his\nfeet, and arm him with a good sword, and send him whithersoever he\nchooses to go. Or if thou art willing, thou canst keep him here with\nthee, and I will send down food and raiment for him, that he may not\nbe a burden to thee and thy men. But I will not allow him to go among\nthe wooers, and suffer ill-treatment which I have no power to\nprevent.\"\n\nOdysseus, who had not seen his son since he was an infant, desired to\nlearn something more of his mind and character; and in order to draw\nhim into further speech he asked, with an air of indignation, who the\nwooers were, and how it was that he submitted to their violence. \"Is\nthe public voice against thee,\" he asked, \"or art thou at feud with\nthy brethren, so that they will not help thee? If I were in thy place\nI would fall upon them singlehanded, for it were better to die once\nfor all than tamely to submit to such outrage.\"\n\n\"Behold I will tell thee all the truth,\" answered Telemachus. \"'Tis\nneither by the consent of the people nor by the ill-will of my\nbrethren, that this evil hath come upon me. But Heaven hath ordained\nthat the honours and the burden of our house should ever rest upon one\nalone. Laertes, my grandsire, was an only son, and Odysseus was the\nsole issue of his marriage; and even so I am the only child of\nOdysseus. Therefore I sit helpless and alone, at the mercy of this\nruffian band. But enough of this! We have no hope left, save in the\njustice of Heaven.\" Then he turned to Eum\u00e6us, and said: \"Make haste\nnow, go down to the house, and tell Penelope that I have come back\nsafe from Pylos. Let none else hear it, but come back hither at once,\nwhen thou hast delivered thy message, and I will wait here until thy\nreturn.\"\n\n\"Shall I not go to Laertes, and tell him also?\" asked the swineherd.\n\"Since the day of thy departure he has tasted neither meat nor drink,\nbut sits alone in his sorrow, and will not be comforted.\"\n\n\"My mother can send a handmaid to inform him,\" answered Telemachus.\n\"But as for thee, see that thou return here straightway, and lose no\ntime.\"\n\nII\n\nSoon after the departure of Eum\u00e6us, Odysseus and Telemachus were\nsitting before the door of the hut, each lost in his own thoughts,\nwhen their attention was attracted by the strange behaviour of the\ndogs. These animals, which had been lying basking in the sun, all at\nonce started up with a stifled cry, and ran whining, with every sign\nof terror, to a distant corner of the courtyard. \"What ails the\nhounds?\" said Telemachus, looking up in surprise. But Odysseus was not\nlong before he saw the cause of their alarm: standing at the outer\ngate was a tall female figure, of majestic countenance, and more than\nmortal beauty. Telemachus saw her not, but Odysseus instantly knew who\nshe was, and, obeying a gesture of her hand, he rose from his seat and\nwent out through the gate. She led him to a place where they were out\nof hearing, and then said: \"It is time for thee to reveal thyself to\nthy son, that together ye may contrive destruction for the wooers.\nWhen the hour of reckoning comes, I shall be near to aid you.\"\nThereupon she touched him with her wand, and in a moment he was once\nmore the old Odysseus, still in the full vigour of his manhood, dark\nand sunburnt, with thick black hair and curling beard. His rags also\nhad been replaced by fair clean raiment; and thus completely\ntransformed he went back to the hut to reveal himself to Telemachus.\nAthene, having done her part, had forthwith disappeared.\n\nFear came upon Telemachus, and he marvelled exceedingly, when the real\nOdysseus appeared before him. \"Who art thou,\" he asked, \"that comest\nback in a moment thus wondrously transfigured? If thou be a god, as\nmethinks thou art, let me find favour in thy sight, and we will honour\nthee with rich offerings of gold, and with humble prayers.\"\n\n\"No god am I,\" answered Odysseus, \"but thine own dear father, for\nwhose sake thou hast suffered so long with groanings and tears.\"\n\nWith that he kissed him, and giving vent to the tenderness which he\nhad hitherto restrained he lifted up his voice and wept. But\nTelemachus could not yet believe that it was indeed his father whom he\nsaw before him. \"It cannot be,\" he said, drawing back in affright. \"It\nis mere magic and glamour practised against me by some hostile power,\nto mock my sorrow. No being of flesh and blood could work such a\nchange upon himself. A moment since thou wast an old man in sordid\nraiment, and now thou art like unto the sons of heaven.\"\n\n\"Forbear!\" said Odysseus, \"no more amazement! I am thy father, and no\nother; if not, thou shalt never see him more. Much have I suffered,\nand wandered far, and now in the twentieth year I am come back to my\nnative land. This change at which thou marvellest is no work of mine,\nbut was wrought by Athene, daughter of Zeus. The gods can deal with us\nas they will, both for our glory and for our shame.\"\n\nThen Telemachus was convinced, and fell into his father's arms, and\nthey wept long and sore over each other, for joy and grief are near\nneighbours. Presently they grew calmer, and Odysseus, in answer to his\nson's inquiry, told how the Ph\u00e6acians had conveyed him to Ithaca, and\nof all the treasures which he had brought with him.\n\n\"But now we must speak of a sterner task,\" said Odysseus, when his\nstory was ended. \"Tell me now the number of the wooers, that I may\nknow how many and what manner of men they be, and thereafter contrive\nhow we may best assail them, whether by ourselves or with others to\nhelp us.\"\n\n\"Father,\" answered Telemachus, \"I knew thy high renown, as a warrior\nmighty in word and deed. But I fear me greatly that this task is too\nhard for us; how shall two men prevail against so many? Listen now and\nI will tell thee their number. From Dulichium are two and fifty, with\nsix men-servants, from Same twenty-four, from Zacynthus twenty, and\nfrom Ithaca itself twelve, all proper men and tall. If we twain fall\nupon such a host, we may find the work of vengeance a bitter morsel,\nand our bane. It were better, then, to look for some other help.\"\n\n\"Helpers we shall find, and stout ones too,\" said Odysseus. \"What\nsayest thou to Athene and her father, Zeus? Is their aid enough or\nshall we look for more?\"\n\n\"Mighty indeed are the champions thou namest,\" replied Telemachus,\n\"though throned far remote among the clouds; supreme are they in\nsovereignty, both on earth and in heaven.\"\n\n\"Thou sayest well,\" answered Odysseus; \"and ere long the wooers shall\nfeel their might. Now learn further what thou must do. To-morrow thou\nshalt go up to the house, and join the company of the wooers, and\nafterwards the swineherd will bring me thither in the disguise of a\nbeggar old and miserable. If the wooers use me despitefully seek not\nto prevent it, but let thy heart endure, even though they beat me, or\ndrag me by the feet through the doors. Thou mayest reprove them\ngently, and bid them cease from their wantonness, but they will not\nheed thee for their lives are forfeit already. Mark further, and take\nheed what I say. When the time to strike is come I will give thee a\nsignal, and, forthwith, thou shalt remove all the weapons from the\nhalls, and make excuse to the wooers, saying that thou art bestowing\nthem in a safe place, out of reach of the smoke. Leave only two swords\nand two shields and two spears, as weapons for ourselves. But above\nall I charge thee to let none know of my coming--neither Laertes, nor\nEum\u00e6us, nor Penelope herself. Alone we must work, and watch the temper\nof the thralls, to see if there be any on our side.\"\n\nIII\n\nMeanwhile the faithful swineherd made all haste to carry his message\nto Penelope. Just as he was approaching the house, he met one of the\ncrew of Telemachus' ship coming up from the harbour on the same\nerrand. So they went together, and while Eum\u00e6us conveyed the tidings\nprivately to Penelope, he who was sent from the ship delivered his\nreport in the hearing of the whole household.\n\nGreat was the dismay of the suitors when they learnt that their foul\nplot had been frustrated. One by one they stole out of the house to a\nsecret place of meeting; and when they were all assembled they began\nto devise what was next to be done. While they were debating they were\njoined by Antinous and the crew of the ship which had been lying in\nwait for Telemachus in the strait. Always the foremost in violent\ncounsels, Antinous breathed out threatenings and slaughter against the\nyoung prince. \"The boy only escaped us by a miracle,\" he said. \"All\nday long we had sentinels on all the heights commanding the sea, and\nat night we patrolled the waters in our ship. Yet for all our\nvigilance he has slipped through our hands. But I will not be baffled\nthus,\" he added, stamping with fury. \"This wretched boy must die, or\nwe shall never accomplish our purpose. Let us make haste and slay him\nbefore he comes back to the town, or he will call a meeting of the\npeople and proclaim to all Ithaca that we sought to slay him, and\nfailed. Then the whole city will rise against us, and we shall have to\nfly for our lives.\"\n\nThen another of the wooers rose up and rebuked Antinous for his\nbloodthirsty counsels. This man's name was Amphinomus, and he was the\nchief among the wooers who came from Dulichium. More than any of the\nother suitors he found favour with Penelope, for he was a prudent man\nand a just, and his voice was pleasant to her ear. \"Remember,\" he\nsaid, \"that Telemachus is of royal race; and it is a dreadful thing to\nshed the blood of kings. I will have no hand in such an act, without\nsure and manifest sign that it is the will of Zeus.\"\n\nThe speech of Amphinomus was received with a murmur of applause; for\nmost of the wooers were averse to the violent measures proposed by\nAntinous. So they arose, and returned to the house.\n\nPenelope had heard of their plotting from the herald, Medon, and\nobeying a sudden impulse she came down from her chamber, and standing\nin the doorway began to upbraid Antinous for his wicked purpose. \"Thou\nhast the name of a wise and eloquent man,\" she said, \"but thy fame is\nbetter than thy deeds. Wretch, why dost thou lay snares against the\nlife of my son? Hast thou never heard how thy father came to this\nhouse, flying from the wrath of the Ithacans, who would have slain\nhim, because he had joined the Taphian pirates in a raid on the\nThesprotians, who were our allies? But Odysseus stood between him and\ntheir fury, and saved his life. A fair return thou art making for that\ngood service, devouring his substance, paying court to his wife, and\ncompassing the death of his son.\"\n\nAntinous sat biting his lips, and made no answer; but Eurymachus, a\nsubtler villain, smooth and specious, but all the more dangerous,\nspoke for him, and said: \"Sage daughter of Icarius, fear nothing for\nthy son Telemachus, for while I live no man shall offer him violence.\nBy this sword I swear it, and I care not who hears me, the man who\nseeks to harm him shall die by my hand. I at least have not forgotten\nthe loving-kindness of thy lord, Odysseus, on whose knees I have often\nsat, and taken food and drink from his hand. Therefore I love\nTelemachus as a brother, and I swear to thee that none of the wooers\nshall do him any harm.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Home-coming of Odysseus\n\n\nI\n\nWhen Eum\u00e6us came back from his errand, Odysseus, who in the meantime\nhad resumed his disguise, was helping Telemachus to prepare the\nevening meal. Telemachus questioned him about the ship which the\nwooers had sent out to waylay him on his return from Pylos, but Eum\u00e6us\nhad been in such haste to get back to his farm that he had not stopped\nto inquire about the matter. \"But thus much I can tell thee,\" he said:\n\"as I was crossing the hill which overlooks the town I saw a galley,\nbristling with spear and helm, entering the harbour; and I believe\nthat this was the ship of which thou speakest\"\n\n\"No doubt of it,\" answered Telemachus, with a significant glance at\nhis father. Then they all fell to their suppers with hearty appetite,\nand soon afterwards retired to rest.\n\nThe first chill of dawn was still in the air when Telemachus roused\nthe swineherd, and announced his intention of proceeding at once to\nthe town. \"I know,\" he said, \"that my mother will have no peace until\nshe sees me with her own eyes. Now as to this stranger, I charge thee\nto take him with thee into the town, that he may beg his bread from\nhouse to house. Burdened as I am already, and full of care, I cannot\nprovide for him. If he thinks it hard, all the worse for him.\"\n\n\"Thou sayest well,\" answered Odysseus; \"I have no mind to remain here.\nI am too old to take orders from a master, and it is better to beg my\nliving in the town than in the fields. Therefore I will go, when I\nhave warmed me at the fire, and the sun is up; for I am ill equipped\nto face the frosts of morning.\"\n\nAway went Telemachus, covering the ground with rapid strides, his mind\noccupied all the way with thoughts of vengeance against the wooers.\nThe first who saw him when he crossed the threshold of his home was\nhis old nurse, Eurycleia, who was just then spreading fleeces on the\nseats in the great hall. With a cry of joy she ran and fell on his\nneck, and kissed him; and all the faithful handmaids of Penelope\ncrowded round to welcome their young master home. The sound of their\nvoices reached the ears of Penelope, and with swift steps she came\ngliding into the hall, fair as Artemis, or golden Aphrodite. When she\nsaw Telemachus she flung her arms round his neck and covered his face\nwith kisses. \"Welcome,\" she sobbed, \"Telemachus, my heart's darling,\nrestored to me beyond all hope! Say, hast thou brought any news of thy\nfather?\"\n\nBut Telemachus was too full of the stern task which lay before him to\nleave room for softer emotions. Gently extricating himself from his\nmother's embrace he said: \"Dear mother, thou shalt hear all in due\nseason; at present I have other work to do. Go thou to thy chamber,\nand put on clean raiment, and when thou hast purified thyself pray to\nall the immortal gods to hasten the day of atonement for those who\nhave wronged our house. I will return presently, when I have done my\nbusiness in the town.\"\n\nThe gentle Penelope went to do her son's bidding, and Telemachus\nstarted for the town, with two hounds following close at his heels. He\nseemed taller and manlier after his short absence, and many an eye\nfollowed him with wonder as he passed through the streets. Presently\nhe came to the place where the wooers were assembled, and they came\ncrowding about him with false words of welcome. But he turned his back\non them with scorn, and seeing a little group of his father's friends,\namong whom were Mentor and the aged Halitherses, he went and sat down\namong them. While they were questioning him about his travels, Peir\u00e6us\ncame up, bringing with him the seer, Theoclymenus, whom Telemachus had\nleft in his charge the day before. \"I restore to thee thy guest,\" said\nPeir\u00e6us, \"who has been entertained in all honour at my house; and if\nthou wilt send thy handmaids, I will deliver unto them the treasure\nwhich thou hast brought with thee from Pylos.\"\n\n\"I thank thee,\" answered Telemachus; \"Theoclymenus shall go with me;\nbut as to the treasure, do thou keep it for me until these evil days\nare passed. If aught untoward befall me, I had rather it remained with\nthee than that it should fall into the hands of the wooers.\"\n\nHaving taken leave of his friends, he returned to the house, taking\nTheoclymenus with him. And when they had bathed and put on fresh\nraiment, they sat down to meat. The meal proceeded in silence, and at\nlast Penelope, who was sitting near, busy with her distaff, and\nlonging impatiently to hear her son's news, said in a tone of\ndispleasure: \"Hast thou no word for thy mother, Telemachus? Or art\nthou keeping thy tidings until the wooers return? Surely I thought in\nthis rare interval of quiet to hear how thou hast fared and what thou\nhast learnt on this journey. But if thou hast naught to tell me, I\nwill go to my widowed bed, and weep away the hours until dawn.\"\n\nRoused from his reverie by his mother's reproaches, Telemachus gave a\nbrief account of his visit to Nestor and Menelaus, and of what they\nhad told him. Penelope was musing on her son's report, when\nTheoclymenus, the second-sighted man, started up from his seat, and\ncried: \"I see him, I see him! He is landed in Ithaca, he is coming\nhither, he is here! Woe unto the suitors! Their hour is at hand, and\nnot one of them shall escape.\"\n\nPenelope had heard such prophecies too often to pay much heed to the\nseer's vision. \"Ah! my friend,\" she said, with a sad smile, \"I can but\npray that thy words will be fulfilled; if ever they are, it shall be a\nhappy day for thee.\"\n\nAt this moment the wooers came trooping in, filling the house with\nriot and uproar; and there was an end of all quiet converse for that\nday.\n\nII\n\nIt was past noon before Odysseus and Eum\u00e6us set out for the town; for\nEum\u00e6us had conceived a great liking for his guest, and listened with\ndelight to his wonderful tales of adventure. \"Come,\" he said at last,\nwhen Odysseus had finished one of his long stories. \"It is time to be\ngoing, though I would willingly have kept thee here. But my young lord\nhas spoken and we must obey.\" \"Lead on,\" said Odysseus, \"I know what\nthou wouldst say; but first give me a staff to lean on, for I heard\nthee say that the path was rough.\"\n\nSo saying he threw his tattered wallet over his shoulder, and taking a\nstout staff, which Eum\u00e6us offered him, started with his friend across\nthe hills. After a toilsome walk they reached the top of the hill\nwhich overlooked the town, and descending the slope they came to a\ncopious spring of water, well fenced with stones, and shaded by a\ngrove of alders. The water descended into a basin from the face of a\nrock in a cool and copious stream; and on either side stood an altar\nto the nymphs. \"It is the common fountain of the townspeople,\"\nexplained Eum\u00e6us. \"The altars and the basin which receives the water\nare the work of our ancient kings.\"\n\nOdysseus paused a moment, lost in the memories which were awakened by\nthat familiar scene. But his reverie was rudely interrupted. While he\nstood gazing at the fountain, he heard a rude voice hailing them from\nthe road, and looking round he saw a man leading a pair of fine goats\ntowards the town. It was Melanthius, his own goatherd, who was\nbringing the best of his flock to make savoury meat for the wooers.\n\n\"Here are two birds of a feather!\" shouted the fellow, in jeering\ntones--\"that wretched swineherd, and a ravenous beggar. A fine guest\nthou art bringing to our young masters, and a fair welcome, without\ndoubt, they will give him. Were it not better that I took him with me\nto my farm? He could sweep out the pens, and gather green shoots for\nthe kids; and we would give him whey to drink, and put some flesh on\nthese shrunk shanks[1] of his. But the lazy knave will do no work; he\nwould rather rub his shoulders against every door-post, begging for\nbroken meat. Broken bones will be his portion, if the wooers see him\nnear the house of Odysseus.\"\n\n[Footnote 1: \"A world too wide for his shrunk shanks,\"--Shakespeare:\n\"As You Like It.\"]\n\nWhile he uttered these taunts Melanthius had gradually come close to\nOdysseus, and with the last word he lifted up his foot and kicked him\nwith all his force on the hip. Odysseus stood like a rock, and stirred\nnot an inch from his ground; his first impulse was to seize the\nruffian by the ankles, and dash out his brains on the road; but he\nchecked himself with a great effort, and said not a word.\n\nBut Eum\u00e6us rebuked the goatherd, and invoked the vengeance of heaven\nagainst him. \"Would that our noble master were here!\" he cried, \"he\nwould soon make an end of thee, thou braggart! Unfaithful herdsman,\nthat rovest ever about the town, leaving thy flock to underlings!\"\n\n\"Go to, thou dog!\" retorted Melanthius, with a savage laugh. \"Wilt\nthou be ever harping on that string? Thy noble master is dust long\nago, and I would that Telemachus were lying with him. As for thee, I\nwill one day cast thee bound into a ship, and sell thee across the\nseas for a great price.\"\n\nWith that he left them, and stepped briskly out towards the house,\nwhile Odysseus and Eum\u00e6us followed more slowly. Presently they came to\nan extensive enclosure, standing conspicuously on a high level plateau\noverlooking the town. Behind the fence towered the roof of a great\ntimber house. They passed through the outer gates, and as they entered\nthe courtyard they heard the sounds of a harp, and the steam of roast\nflesh was borne to their nostrils.\n\n\"Take heed now,\" said Eum\u00e6us, lowering his voice, as they approached\nthe door of the house. \"I will go in first, and do thou follow me\nclose, lest anyone find thee outside and do thee some hurt.\"\n\n\"Fear nothing for me,\" answered Odysseus, \"I am no stranger to blows,\nfor I have been sore buffeted on land and sea. The belly is a stern\ntaskmaster, which compels us to face both wounds and death.\"\n\nSo saying he stepped aside to let Eum\u00e6us pass, then checked him with a\nhasty exclamation; for he had seen something which sent a pang of\nsorrow to his heart. Heaped up against the wall by the doorway was a\ngreat pile of refuse, left there until the thralls should carry it\naway and lay it on the fields; and there, grievously neglected, and\nalmost blind with age, lay a great gaunt hound, to all seeming more\ndead than alive. What was the emotion of Odysseus when he recognised\nin that poor creature his old favourite, Argus, whom he had reared\nwith his own hand, and trained to the chase, in the old days before he\nsailed to Troy! As he stooped down with a caressing gesture the hound\nfeebly raised his head; a strange light came into his eyes, he drooped\nhis ears, and wagged his tail, but was too weak to stir from the place\nwhere he lay. Odysseus brushed away a tear, and said to Eum\u00e6us: \"'Tis\nstrange that so fine a hound should lie thus uncared for in his old\nage. Or do his looks belie his qualities? Handsome he must have been,\nas I can see still; but perhaps his beauty was all he had to boast\nof.\"\n\n\"He was my master's favourite hound,\" answered Eum\u00e6us, \"and there was\nnone swifter or keener of scent in all the land. Formerly the young\nmen would take him with them to hunt the wild goat or the hare or the\ndeer; but now that he is sore stricken with years not one of the women\nwill bring him a morsel to eat, or a little water to drink. So it ever\nis when the master is absent; for a slave has no conscience when his\nowner's eye is not upon him.\"\n\nWhen Eum\u00e6us had entered the house, Odysseus lingered awhile, gazing\nsadly at the faithful Argus. The old hound raised himself, and\nstruggled painfully to drag himself to his master's feet; but the\neffort was too much for him, and he sank back on his sorry bed, and\nbreathed his last.\n\nWith a heavy heart Odysseus turned away, and passing into the hall sat\ndown on the threshold and laid his scrip beside him. Telemachus was\nthe first to notice him, and calling the swineherd, who was sitting\nnear, he gave him a loaf of bread and a good handful of meat, and bade\nhim carry it to the beggar. \"And tell him to go round and beg of all\nthe wooers,\" he said: \"want and modesty agree ill together.\" Eum\u00e6us\nbrought the gift and the message, which Odysseus received with a\nblessing on the giver. And when he had eaten he rose and went round\nthe hall, begging of the wooers. All gave him something until he came\nto Antinous, who stared at him insolently and asked who he was.\n\n\"I saw the fellow,\" answered Melanthius, \"a little while ago. Eum\u00e6us\nbrought him hither, but who he is I know not.\"\n\n\"Ah! thou rogue,\" said Antinous to the swineherd, \"we know thy ways!\nWhy didst thou bring this caitiff to the town? Are there not beggars\nenough here already to mar our pleasure when we sit down to meat? 'Tis\nnought to thee, it seems, that these palmer-worms come swarming round\nthe house to devour thy master's living.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Return of Odysseus]\n\n\"He is no guest of my inviting,\" answered Eum\u00e6us. \"I would not invite\nto this house any wandering stranger, unless he were a prophet, or\nleech, or shipwright, or minstrel; and he is none of these. But thou\nart ever hard on the servants of Odysseus, and especially on me; yet I\ncare not, so long as I satisfy Penelope and my young lord,\nTelemachus.\"\n\n\"Eum\u00e6us, thou art overbold of speech,\" said Telemachus; then turning\nto Antinous he added: \"I thank thee for thy fatherly care, but we are\nnot so poor that we need to drive the stranger from our doors--heaven\nforbid! Give him something; 'tis I that bid thee: but thou art ever\nbetter at taking than at giving.\"\n\n\"I will give him something, thou malapert boy,\" answered Antinous,\ngrinding his teeth with rage, \"something which will keep him from the\nhouse for three months to come.\" As he spoke he thrust forward a heavy\nfootstool from under the table, and placed it ready at hand.\n\nMeanwhile, Odysseus, having filled his wallet, was preparing to return\nto his place on the threshold. But first he came to Antinous, and\naddressed to him a long harangue in the common style of the\nprofessional beggar, who had seen better days and been brought to want\nby the malice of fortune. He concluded with a fragment of the story\nwhich he had already told to Eum\u00e6us.\n\nAntinous heard him to the end with ill-disguised impatience, and then\nbroke out in angry tones: \"Who brought this wretched fellow here to\nvex us? Stand off from my table, thou shameless varlet! Egypt, sayest\nthou? I will send thee to Egypt, and with a vengeance, too! It is a\nshame to see how they have squandered good meat on a dog like thee\";\nand he pointed to the wallet, now filled with the cheap bounty of the\nwooers.\n\nOdysseus drew back and made for the door, saying as he went: \"Of a\ntruth, I wonder to find so princely a presence wedded to so mean a\ntemper.\"\n\nWhen he heard that Antinous began to curse and to swear, and lifting\nthe footstool he hurled it with all his force at the retreating figure\nof Odysseus. It struck him on the shoulder, with a crash that vibrated\nthrough the hall; but Odysseus heeded it not, but passed on without a\npause or a stumble to his place on the threshold. When he was seated\nhe complained loudly of the brutal conduct of Antinous. \"Accursed be\nhe,\" he said, \"who lifts up his hand against a helpless beggar; may\nHeaven requite him for this foul deed!\"\n\n\"Thou hadst best be quiet,\" said Antinous, \"or we will drag thee by\nthe heels through the hall, until we have stripped the flesh off thy\nbones.\"\n\nBut this was too much even for the wooers. \"Antinous,\" said one of\nthem, \"it was ill done of thee to strike the hapless wanderer. Take\nheed that thou bring not a curse upon thyself, if there be gods in\nheaven to see such deeds. And what if a god should visit this house in\nsome strange disguise, to make trial of our hearts? It were no new\nthing.\"\n\nA chill seemed to have fallen on the company after this shameful\nincident. The wooers had ceased their clamour, and sat talking in low\ntones together; Odysseus and Telemachus sat silent in their places,\nbrooding gloomily on the outrage; Antinous alone remained unmoved,\nbeing hardened, within and without, against all reproach.\n\nWhen Penelope, who was sitting among her maidens in her chamber, heard\nhow the stranger had been ill-treated, she cried: \"So may Apollo smite\nthee, Antinous, thou godless man!\" \"Ay,\" said Eurycleia, \"if prayers\ncould slay them, not one of these men would see to-morrow's dawn.\"\n\n\"Go, one of you,\" said Penelope, \"and bring hither the swineherd. I\nwould fain speak with this stranger; who knows but he may have\nsomewhat to tell me of Odysseus, my lord?\" Eum\u00e6us was summoned, and\nhaving heard the desire of Penelope, he answered: \"My queen, there is\na rare pleasure awaiting thee. This man hath a tongue to charm thy\nvery soul. Three days and nights he abode with me, and all that time\nhe kept us spellbound by the tale of his adventures. It was as if we\nwere listening to the lay of some rare minstrel, a god-gifted man, who\nsways all hearts as he will by the magic of his voice. And he brings\nsure tidings of Odysseus too, if we may believe what he says.\"\n\n\"Call him hither,\" answered Penelope, \"that he may speak to me face to\nface. If his news be true, we may yet see the day when these men shall\npay a heavy price for their plunder of our house.\"\n\nAs she spoke, a loud sneeze was heard in the room below. \"It was my\nson,\" said Penelope, laughing, \"I know it by the sound; and it is a\nsign that my words will be fulfilled. Make haste now, and bring the\nstranger to me.\"\n\nEum\u00e6us went, and presently returned with a message from the supposed\nbeggar, to say that he feared fresh violence from the wooers, if he\nleft his place by the door and passed through them again. The truth\nwas that Odysseus feared recognition if he appeared before his wife in\nbroad daylight; so he affected to complain of the indifference of\nTelemachus, who had allowed the savage deed of Antinous to go\nunpunished, and begged permission to wait until the evening, when the\nwooers would be gone home, and he could tell his story unmolested.\n\n\"He says well,\" answered Penelope, when she had heard the message.\n\"And he seems to be a man of sense. We will wait until evening, as he\ndesires.\"\n\nThe day was waning when Eum\u00e6us returned to the hall, and the wooers\nhad already begun their evening pastimes. The swineherd went up to\nTelemachus, and said to him in a low tone: \"It is time for me to\nreturn to my farm, that I may give an eye to the things which I have\nin charge. I leave thee to look to the house, and all that it\ncontains; but above all be careful of thyself, for there are many here\nwho wish thee ill.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Beggar Irus\n\n\nJust after Eum\u00e6us had left, a huge, ungainly fellow came slouching up\nto the place where Odysseus was sitting, and eyed him with a look of\ngreat disfavour. He was the town beggar, known far and wide in Ithaca\nas the greediest and laziest knave in the whole island. His real name\nwas Arn\u00e6us, but from being employed to run errands about the place he\nhad received the nickname of Irus. Highly indignant at finding his\nrights usurped by a new-comer, and thinking to find in that battered\nold man an easy victim, he began to rate his supposed rival in a big,\nblustering voice: \"Give place, old man, to thy betters, and force me\nnot to use my hands upon thee. Begone, and that quickly, or it shall\nbe the worse for thee; out of the way, I say!\"\n\nWith a stern look Odysseus answered him, and said: \"What possesses\nthee, fellow, that thou seekest a quarrel with me? Thou art, as I\nperceive, a beggar like me, and I grudge thee not anything which thou\nmayest receive in the way of alms from those who sit here. There is\nroom on this threshold for us both. But I warn thee not to provoke me\nto blows, for old as I am I will set a mark upon thee which thou wilt\ncarry to thy death.\"\n\nTrusting in his size, and encouraged by the nods and winks of the\nwooers who sat near, Irus was only too ready to take up the challenge.\n\"Hark to the old starveling cur!\" he shouted. \"How glib of tongue he\nis, like any scolding hag! Get thee to thy fists then, since thou wilt\nhave it so, and I will knock all thy teeth out, if thou hast any\nleft\"; and he thrust Odysseus with his foot.\n\nAll the wooers now came running up, and crowded round the exasperated\nbeggars, hoping to see fine sport. Antinous took the lead, such a\nscene being exactly to his taste. \"Here is matter for mirth,\" he\ncried, laughing, \"for many a day. Make a ring quickly, and let them\nfight it out.\"\n\nIn the courtyard there was a red smouldering fire, on which two huge\nsausages were roasting, a sort of haggis made by filling the belly of\na goat with fat and blood. It was determined to give one of these\nmesses to the winner in the fight; and he also was henceforth to have\nthe sole right to receive the broken meats at the wooers' feasts.\n\nOdysseus now pretended to draw back, as if he feared an encounter with\na man younger than himself; but at last he consented to the match, on\ncondition that the wooers would swear an oath not to strike him a foul\nblow while he was fighting with Irus. To this they all agreed, and\nforthwith Odysseus stripped to the waist, and girded his rags about\nhis loins. By some strange magic his limbs seemed to have filled out;\nand when the wooers saw his mighty chest and broad shoulders they\ncried out in amazement \"Methinks Irus will pay dearly for his ire,\"[1]\nsaid one. \"Look what a brawny thigh the old carle shows under his\nrags!\"\n\n[Footnote 1: The pun is an attempt to reproduce a similar word-play in\nthe original.]\n\nIrus himself was not less astonished than dismayed, so that they were\nobliged to use force to make him face his opponent; and as he stood\nthere quaking with fear Antinous reviled him bitterly, and threatened,\nif he were defeated, to carry him to the mainland, and hand him over\nto a robber chieftain, nicknamed the Mutilator, and notorious for his\ncruelties. \"He will carve thee into collops and fling them to his\ndogs,\" said the ferocious prince.\n\nLittle encouraged, as may be supposed, this prospect, Irus in his\ndespair aimed a blow at Odysseus, and struck him on the right\nshoulder. Then Odysseus, who had resolved to put forth but half his\nforce, lest he should betray himself to the wooers, struck the\nwretched man under the ear. There was a crash of broken bones, and\ndown went Irus in the dust, spitting blood, and beating the ground\nwith his heels. The wooers hailed his fall with shouts of laughter,\nand Odysseus, seizing the prostrate beggar by the foot, dragged him\nthrough the courtyard gate, and propped him against the wall. \"Sit\nthere,\" he said, placing his staff in his hand, \"and keep off dogs and\nswine. Methinks thou hast had enough of playing the tyrant among\nstrangers and beggars.\"\n\nWhen he returned to his place on the threshold he found the wooers in\nhigh good humour at the defeat of Irus. \"May heaven fulfil all thy\nheart's desire!\" cried one who sat near, \"seeing that thou hast rid us\nof that hungry, brawling rogue.\" His words had a meaning which he\nlittle guessed, and Odysseus rejoiced when he heard them. Then\nAntinous brought the pudding, all steaming from the fire, and set it\nby him; and Amphinomus gave him two loaves, and filled a cup with\nwine. \"Hail, old friend!\" he said, offering the cup, \"and mayest thou\nlive to see happier days.\"\n\nThis Amphinomus differed in character from the other suitors, being a\nprudent and fair-minded man. Odysseus knew him and his father well,\nand being willing to save him, if possible, he looked earnestly at\nhim, and said: \"Amphinomus, thou seemest to be a man of understanding,\nand therefore I will give thee a word of warning. Hark, in thine ear!\nQuit this company at once! The day of doom is very near to them all,\nand I would not that thou shouldst perish with them.\"\n\nThese words, spoken in a low and solemn tone, so that none besides\nmight hear, sent a chill to the heart of Amphinomus. Slowly and sadly\nhe went back to his seat, his mind full of dark foreboding.\nNevertheless, he did not profit by the warning; for he had thrown in\nhis lot with that guilty band, and had to drink of the same cup.\n\n\n\n\nPenelope and the Wooers\n\n\nI\n\n\"How slowly move the hours,\" said Penelope to Eurycleia, yawning and\nthen laughing in sheer vacancy of spirit. \"How would it be if I showed\nmyself to the wooers? I hate them, it is true, but it would serve to\npass the time, and I could caution my son not to be so familiar with\nthese treacherous friends.\"\n\n\"Do so, my child,\" answered Eurycleia, \"but first wash and anoint\nthyself, and go not among them with this tear-stained face. And waste\nnot thy life in perpetual mourning; think what a comfort thou hast in\nthy son.\"\n\n\"Speak not to me of such vanities,\" answered Penelope; \"why should I\nwish to preserve this poor remnant of my beauty? Foul or fair, what\nmatters it in my widowed state? But send two of my handmaids hither to\nattend me, for it is not seemly that I should go alone among the men.\"\n\nWhile the nurse was gone to fetch the maidens, a sudden drowsiness\noverpowered Penelope, and she sank back in her chair, subdued by a\nshort but trancelike sleep. And while she slumbered, invisible hands\nwere busy with her person, washing away all the stains which sorrow\nhad left on her face, and shedding upon her immortal loveliness, such\nas clothes the Queen of Love herself, when she joins the sister Graces\nin the dance. The voices of the women entering her chamber roused her\nfrom that strange sleep, and sitting up she rubbed her cheeks and\nsaid: \"Wondrous soft was the slumber which overtook me in my sorrow!\nWould that it were death which had come upon me with like softness,\nthat I might no longer waste away in mourning for the excellence of my\ndear, dear lord!\"\n\nThereupon she arose, and descending the stairs stood in the open\ndoorway of the hall, with a handmaid on either side. A murmur of\nsurprise and admiration went round the whole company, for never had\nshe seemed so wondrous fair. Turning to Telemachus she said: \"My son,\nwith grief I perceive that thy understanding increaseth not with thy\ngrowth, but rather becometh less. Who would think, seeing thee thus\ntall and comely, like a prince's true son, that thou wouldst suffer\nsuch deeds to be wrought upon the stranger within thy gates? What if\nhe had come by his death through this violence? What shame and infamy\nto thee!\"\n\n\"Mother,\" answered Telemachus, \"thou hast some reason for thine anger.\nHowbeit, I have a man's wit, and am not, as thou sayest, more foolish\nthan a child. But what can one do against so many? And as to this\nstranger, thou wouldst know that thy fears are idle, if thou couldst\nsee Irus as he now sits at the gate, rolling his head like a drunkard,\nwith no strength to stand on his feet or stir from his place. Would\nthat all the wooers were in the same plight!\"\n\nWhile Telemachus was defending himself, Eurymachus had been gazing\nwith bold eyes on that fair lady; and now he addressed her with smooth\nwords of flattery: \"Daughter of Icarius, sage Penelope, if all the\nGreeks could behold thee as now thou art, this house would not contain\nthe multitude of thy wooers. Thou surpassest all the daughters of men\nin beauty, and in stature, and in thy even-balanced wit\"\n\n\"Eurymachus,\" answered Penelope, \"all the bloom of my womanhood was\nblighted on the evil day when the Greeks embarked for Troy, and\nOdysseus, my lord, went with them. But now I am like some poor hunted\ncreature, hard beset by the hounds of fate. Well I remember my\nhusband's parting words. Holding my right hand he said: 'Dear wife, I\nam going into the midst of perils, and it may be that we shall never\nsee each other again. Be thou but faithful to thy trust, and remember\nwhose daughter thou art; and when thou seest thy son with a beard on\nhis cheeks, thou art free to marry whom thou wilt.' Such were his\nwords, and now they shall shortly be fulfilled. I see the day\napproaching which shall make me another man's wife; better for me if I\nwere the bride of death! For who ever beheld such wooing as yours?\n'Twas ever the custom among those who sought the daughter of a wealthy\nhouse in marriage to bring with them their own sheep and oxen to make\ngood cheer for the friends of the bride; but ye sit here as unbidden\nguests, and devour my living.\"\n\nOdysseus smiled to himself with pleasure when he heard this artful\nspeech of Penelope, for he perceived her intention, which was to draw\ngifts from the wooers, and raise their hopes by the prospect of her\napproaching marriage. And the artifice was successful, for the wooers,\nfollowing the lead of Antinous and Eurymachus, at once despatched\ntheir servants to bring the bride gifts from their houses. Antinous\ngave a splendid embroidered robe, with twelve golden clasps,\nEurymachus a necklace of amber and gold, and Eurydamas a pair of\njewelled earrings. These and other costly offerings were brought to\nPenelope in her chamber.\n\nII\n\nWhen evening came on, the wooers ordered three braziers to be set up\nin the hall, to give them light as they sat at their pastimes. The\nbraziers were fed with dry chips of pine-wood, and the maid-servants\nrelieved each other from time to time in the duty of keeping up the\nfires. Presently Odysseus drew near to the handmaids, and said: \"Go ye\nand attend the queen in her chamber, I will serve the fires, and give\nlight to the company. Yea, though they sit here all night they shall\nnot tire me out, for I am a much-enduring man.\"\n\nThe women laughed, and glanced at one another; and one of them, whose\nname was Melantho, spoke bitterly to Odysseus, and reviled him,\nsaying: \"Thou wretched old man, why goest thou not to find a bed in\nthe smithy, or wherever else thou canst, instead of loitering here,\nand vexing us with thy prate? Either thou hast drunk a cup too much,\nor else thou art stricken in thy wits. Get thee gone, lest a stronger\nthan Irus lay his hand upon thee and break thy bones.\"\n\n\"Now will I go straightway to Telemachus,\" answered Odysseus fiercely,\n\"yonder where he sits, and tell him what thou sayest, thou vixen, that\nhe may hew thee in pieces on the spot.\"\n\nSo menacing were his looks and his tones that the women fled quaking\nfrom the hall and left him to tend the fires. So there he stood in\nview of the whole company, to their eyes a poor outcast, intent on his\nmenial task; but thoughts other than of the fires filled his heart.\n\nAs he stooped over one of the braziers and stirred the fuel into a\nblaze, Eurymachus noticed the red gleam which was reflected from the\nsmooth, bald crown of the supposed beggar. \"Look!\" he cried, laughing\nand pointing at Odysseus, \"surely this man is a favourite of heaven;\nfor see how the light shines like a crown of glory on his hairless\npate!\"\n\nThen he called to Odysseus, and said: \"How sayest thou, friend, wilt\nthou be my thrall, and work on my farm among the hills for a fixed\nwage? Thy business would be to repair the stone fences and work on the\nplantation; thou wouldst have a whole coat to thy back, and shoes to\nthy feet, and thy penny fee, and bread to eat all the year round. But\nI can read thine answer in thy face: thou wouldst rather crouch and\nwhine for bread than do aught useful to earn thy living.\"\n\n\"Eurymachus,\" answered Odysseus firmly, \"I would that I could prove my\nmanhood against thine in any trial of strength and endurance. Let it\nbe a match of mowing, in a rich meadow-land, on the longest day in\nspring, and let us ply the scythe together, fasting, from dawn till\neve. Or give me a stout pair of oxen, mighty beasts, equal in\nstrength, and both well filled with fodder, and set me to plough a\nfield of four acres, of rich, deep soil--then wouldst thou see if I\ncould drive a straight furrow. Or stand by my side on the perilous\nedge of battle, with equal arms, and try whether I would flinch sooner\nthan thou. A great man and a mighty thou seemest to thyself, having\nnever learnt what true manhood is. Poor windy braggart, if Odysseus\nset foot in this house again, the doors would seem too narrow to thee\nin thy haste to escape.\"\n\n\"Thou saucy knave!\" cried Eurymachus, incensed by this daring speech,\n\"I will teach thee respect for thy betters\"; and seizing a footstool\nhe prepared to hurl it at the offender's head. But Odysseus sprang\naside and ran to Amphinomus for protection; the heavy missile flew\nhurtling through the air, and struck one of the servants, who was just\ncrossing the room, on the arm. Down went the man with a cry of pain,\nand the wooers raised an uproar throughout the hall. \"A murrain on\nthis begging loon!\" exclaimed one. \"Why came he hither to bring strife\namong us?\"\n\n\"Ye are mad, my masters!\" said Telemachus, raising his voice; \"verily\nye are flown with insolence and wine.[1] Ye had better go home and\nsleep off your liquor before worse comes of it.\"\n\n[Footnote 1: Milton, \"Paradise Lost,\" i. 502.]\n\nThe wooers were indeed in a dangerous mood, and they began to finger\ntheir weapons, and utter fierce threats against Telemachus. But\nAmphinomus interposed, and by exerting all his influence induced them\nto forgo their murderous purpose and disperse quietly to their homes.\n\n\n\n\nOdysseus and Penelope\n\n\nAs soon as the house was quiet, Telemachus, obeying a sign from his\nfather, prepared to convey the weapons which hung about the hall to an\ninner chamber, out of the reach of the wooers. First he ordered\nEurycleia to keep the women out of the way, and having barred the\ndoors leading to the inner apartments, he took down helmet and spear\nand shield from the walls, and carried them, with his father's help,\nto the upper room. When this important task was performed he withdrew\nfor the night, and Odysseus was left alone in the hall to await the\ncoming of Penelope.\n\nPresently the doors were opened, and by the flickering light of the\nbraziers Odysseus, for the first time after twenty years, saw the face\nof his wife. Lovely indeed she seemed in his eyes, not less than when\nhe wedded her in her maiden bloom. Her handmaids brought a chair of\nsilver and ivory, a work of most rare device, and set it by the fire\nwith a soft fleece upon it. Penelope took the seat prepared for her\nand gazed curiously at the stranger, who sat crouched in the shadow of\na pillar, avoiding her eye. Meanwhile the women were bustling about\nthe hall, removing the remains of the feast, and heaping fresh fuel on\nthe fires. Among them was Melantho, who had spoken so roughly to\nOdysseus an hour or two before. When she saw Odysseus she began\nrailing at him again, and rudely bade him begone. Penelope soon\nreduced her to silence, and then calling Eurycleia she bade her place\na seat for the stranger.\n\n\"Now tell me,\" began Penelope, when the chair had been brought, \"who\nart thou, and of what country? And who were thy father and mother?\"\n\n\"Ah! lady,\" answered Odysseus, \"I beseech thee, question me not as to\nmy country and my friends, lest thou open anew the fountain of my\ngrief. It is not seemly to sit weeping and wailing in a stranger's\nhouse; and I fear that thou wilt say that my tears are the tears of\ndrunkenness.\"\n\nPenelope pressed him for an answer. \"Thou surely art of some country,\"\nshe said, smiling; \"or art thou one of those of whom old stories tell,\nborn of stocks and stones?\"\n\n\"Since thou urgest it so strongly,\" replied Odysseus, \"I cannot deny\nthee. In the broad realm of Crete there is a certain city, Cnosus by\nname; there reigned Minos, and begat Deucalion, my famous sire. To\nDeucalion two sons were born, Idomeneus the elder, and myself, whom he\nnamed \u00c6thon. When war arose between the Greeks and Trojans, Idomeneus\nsailed to fight for the sons of Atreus, and I was left behind in my\nfather's house. Then it was that I saw Odysseus, who was driven by\nstress of weather to seek shelter on our coasts. When he had anchored\nhis ships in the harbour, he came up to the town and inquired for\nIdomeneus, whom he said was his friend, honoured and beloved; but we\ntold him that Idomeneus had departed ten days before. Then I received\nhim in my house, and feasted him and all his company for twelve days;\nfor all that time the north wind blew, so that a man could not stand\nup against it. On the thirteenth day the wind ceased and they put out\nto sea.\"\n\nPenelope's tears flowed fast as she listened to that cunning fiction,\nwhich seemed to bring her husband before her eyes. Odysseus watched\nher, with eyes set like horn or iron, as she sat before him sobbing\nand rocking herself to and fro; but his heart grew big within him, and\nhe could hardly keep back his own tears. At length she grew calmer,\nand wishing to try him, asked him this searching question: \"If thou\ndidst indeed entertain my husband in thy house, tell me what manner of\nman he was, and what garments he had on, and who they were that\nattended him.\"\n\n\"It is hard,\" answered Odysseus, \"to tell thee of what thou askest,\nafter twenty years; nevertheless I will attempt to call up his image\nfrom the past. He wore a purple woollen cloak, of two folds, and it\nwas held by a golden brooch with a double clasp; and on the brooch was\nfashioned a hound, holding in his jaws a fawn; and so skilfully was it\nwrought that the figures seemed to live, the fawn struggling to\nescape, and the hound clenching his fangs to hold him--so rare a piece\nit was. Under his cloak, Odysseus wore a close-fitting tunic, which\nglistened like the peel of a dried onion; for very soft and fine was\nthe texture. I cannot tell whether these were the garments which he\nhad on when he left you; it may be that they were a gift received on\nhis voyage, for he had many friends. Even so I gave him a sword of\nbronze and a mantle, and a fringed tunic, when I bade him adieu.\nFurther, I would have thee know that he had a squire with him,\nsomewhat older than himself, a round-shouldered man, dark of\ncomplexion, and with curling hair. His name was Eurybates, and\nOdysseus held him in high regard.\"\n\nWhat were the emotions of Penelope, when she heard the raiment and\nornaments which her husband was wearing the last time she saw him thus\ndescribed down to the minutest detail! For a long time she remained\nsilent, overpowered by her feelings; and when she spoke again there\nwas a ring of sincere warmth and friendliness in her voice. \"I pitied\nthee before,\" she said, \"seeing thee thus forlorn, but now thou shalt\nbe my dear and honoured guest, for I know that thou hast spoken the\ntruth. These garments, and the golden brooch, were a gift from my own\nhands to my dear lord. Alas! I shall never see him again. Cursed be\nthe day that parted me from him, and sent him to the land of Troy,\nthat name abhorred of my soul!\"\n\n\"Lady,\" answered Odysseus, \"no one could blame thee, or say that thou\nsorrowest beyond measure, for such a husband as thine. He was indeed a\nman of rare and god-like gifts. Nevertheless be comforted; for ere\nmany days are passed thou wilt see him here, safe and sound, and\nloaded with the wealth which he has gathered in his wanderings.\" Then\nhe went on to repeat the story which he had already told to Eum\u00e6us,\nwith some further facts, drawn from his own experience in the last ten\nyears; and concluded with this solemn adjuration: \"Witness, this\nhearth of Odysseus, to which I am come, and witness Zeus, the supreme\nlord of heaven, if I lie! Ere yonder moon hath waned, Odysseus will be\nsitting under this roof.\"\n\nPenelope shook her head sadly, as she replied: \"It will be a happy day\nfor thee, if thy prophecy is confirmed by the event. But what am I\nsaying? 'Tis an empty dream. But come, let the maidens prepare a bath\nfor thee, and afterwards them shalt sleep sound in a soft, warm bed.\nWell hast thou deserved to receive all honour and worship at my hands,\nand woe unto him that shall seek to harm thee! I will put a speedy end\nto his wooing. For what wilt thou say of me, when thou art wandering\nin distant lands, if I suffer thee to abide here thus poorly clad,\nunwashed, and uncared for? Few and evil are the days of our life; and\nthe best we can do is to win a good name by our gentle deeds while we\nlive, and leave a fair memory behind us when we die.\"\n\n\"I doubt not thy goodness,\" replied Odysseus; \"but I have long been a\nstranger to the comforts of which thou speakest, and they suit not my\nforlorn and desolate state. Nor would I that any of thy handmaids\nshould wash my feet, and mock my infirmities; but if thou hast here an\naged house-dame, like unto me in years and in sorrows, I grudge not\nthat such a one should wait upon me.\"\n\n\"Thou speakest as a prudent man,\" said Penelope, \"and I have such an\naged dame as thou describest among my household. She was the first who\ntook my ill-fated husband in her arms when his mother bare him, and\nshe nursed him tenderly and well. She shall wash thy feet, old though\nshe be, and feeble.\" Then she called Eurycleia, who was sitting near,\nand said to her: \"Come hither, nurse, and wash the stranger's feet.\nWho knows but thy master is now in like evil case, grown old before\nhis time through care and misery?\"\n\nWhen she heard that, the old woman lifted up her voice and wept:\n\"Odysseus,\" she cried, \"child of my sorrow, what have I not borne for\nthee! Pious thou wast, and righteous in all thy dealings, yet Zeus\nhath chosen thee out from among all men to be the object of his hate.\nYea, and perchance even now he is mocked in the house of strangers, as\nthese women were lately mocking thee. Yea, I will wash thee, as\nPenelope bids me, and for thy sake also, for my heart is moved with\npity because of thy woes.\"\n\nWith such speed as her years allowed, the dame went and fetched warm\nwater, and a vessel for washing the feet. She set them down in front\nof Odysseus, and before she began her task, stood for some time\npeering curiously into his face. \"Hear me, friend,\" she said, after a\nwhile, \"of all the strangers that ever entered these doors, ne'er saw\nI one so like unto Odysseus as thou art, in form, and in voice, and in\nfeet.\"\n\n\"So said everyone who saw us together,\" answered Odysseus. But her\nwords filled him with alarm, and recalled to his mind an old scar,\njust above the knee, caused by a wound which he had received from a\nwild boar while hunting in his boyhood in the valleys of Parnassus,\nduring a visit to Autolycus, Penelope's father. If his old nurse\nshould discover the scar she would be certain to recognise him, and\nthe consequences of the premature discovery might be fatal. However,\nhe had now no excuse for declining the bath, so he drew back his chair\ninto the shadow, still hoping to escape detection.\n\nBut Eurycleia, whose suspicions were already aroused, was not thus to\nbe evaded. As she handled the limb her fingers felt the well-known\nmark, and she let the foot fall with a loud cry. The vessel was\noverset, and the water ran over the floor. Half laughing and half\nweeping, the old woman fell upon his neck. \"Thou art Odysseus, dear\nchild!\" she cried, \"and yet I knew thee not till I had touched thee\nwith my hands.\"\n\n[Illustration: Odysseus and Eurycleia]\n\nDuring all this scene Penelope had been sitting like one in a dream,\nlost in the memories awakened by the supposed beggar's story. The\nnurse now turned to rouse her from her reverie, and tell her the\njoyful news; but Odysseus, seeing her intention, pressed a heavy hand\non her mouth, and, drawing her down to him with the other, said in a\nfierce whisper: \"Peace, woman, or I will slay thee! Wouldst thou\ndestroy him whom thou hast nursed at thine own breast?\"\n\nEurycleia had now recovered from the shock of that sudden recognition.\n\"Fear me not,\" she said, \"I will be as secret as the grave. But see,\nthe water is all spilt; I go to fetch more.\" And so with a grave face,\nbut a heart bounding with delight, the faithful old creature brought a\nfresh supply of water, and proceeded with the task of washing her\nmaster's feet.\n\nWhen he resumed his place by the fire, he found Penelope in a soft and\npensive mood, and dwelling, as was her wont, on the sorrows of her\nwidowed state. \"Friend,\" she said, with a gentle sigh, \"I will not\nkeep thee much longer from thy rest, for the hour approaches which\nbrings sweet oblivion to careworn hearts--all save mine. For the night\nbrings me no respite from my woes, but rather increases them. When the\nday's duties are over, and all the house is still, I lie tossing\nceaselessly, torn by conflicting doubts and fears. E'en as the wakeful\nbird sits darkling all night long, and pours her endless plaint, now\nlow and mellow, now piercing high and shrill, so wavers my spirit in\nits purpose, and threads the unending maze of thought. Sweet home of\nmy wedded joy, must I leave thee, and all the faces which I love so\nwell, and the great possessions which he gave into my keeping? Shall I\nbecome a byword among the people, as false to the memory of my true\nlord? Yet how can I face the reproaches of my son, who since he is\ncome to manhood grows more impatient day by day, seeing the waste of\nhis wealth, of which I am the cause?\n\n\"But I wished to ask thee concerning a dream which I had last night.\nThere are twenty geese which I keep about the house, and I take\npleasure in seeing them crop the grain from the water trough. In my\ndream I saw a great eagle swoop down from the mountains and slay them\nall, breaking their necks, There they lay dead in one heap;\nand I made loud lament for the slaying of my geese, so that the women\ngathered round me to comfort me. But the eagle descended again, and\nalighted on a jutting beam of the roof, and thus spake unto me with a\nhuman voice: 'Take comfort, daughter of Icarius; no dream is this, but\na waking vision, which shall surely be fulfilled. The geese are the\nwooers, and I the eagle am thy husband, who will shortly come and give\nthem to their doom.' Even as he said this I awoke, and going to the\nwindow I saw the geese by the door, cropping the grain from the\ntrough, as is their wont.\"\n\n\"Lady,\" answered Odysseus, \"there is but one interpretation of thy\ndream, and thy husband declared it with his own voice. Death looms\nnear at hand for the wooers, and not one of them shall escape.\"\n\nBut Penelope shook her head. \"It is ill trusting in dreams,\" she said,\n\"and hard to discern the false from the true. There are two gates from\nwhich flitting dreams are sent to men: one is of horn, and the other\nof ivory: and the dreams which pass through the ivory gate are sent to\nbeguile, while those which come from the gate of horn are a true\nmessage to him who sees them. And my dream, I believe, was sent me\nfrom the gate of ivory. Yea, the day is approaching, the hateful day,\nwhich shall part me for ever from the house of Odysseus; and this\nshall be the manner of the trial whereby I will prove which of the\nwooers is to win me: I will set up twelve axes, like the trestles on\nwhich the keel of a ship is laid, in the hall, and he who can send an\narrow through the line of double axeheads from the further end of the\nhall shall win me for his bride. This device I learnt from Odysseus,\nwho was wont thus to prove his skill in archery. Then farewell my\nhome, the house of my lord, the home of my love, so fair, so full of\nplenty, which will haunt me in my dreams even unto life's end.\"\n\n\"Tis well-imagined, this trial of the wooers,\" answered Odysseus, \"and\nI counsel thee to put them to the proof without delay; for I am sure\nthat Odysseus will return here again before ever one of these men\nshall string his bow and shoot an arrow through the line of axes.\"\n\n\"Well, my friend,\" said Penelope, \"I will now bid thee good-night,\nthough gladly would I sit here till to-morrow's dawn, and let thee\ndiscourse to enchant mine ear. But there is a time for all things, and\nI would not rob thee of thy needful rest. Therefore I will go and lay\nmy head on my uneasy pillow, and the women shall lay a bed for thee\nhere, or where thou choosest.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe End draws near; Signs and Wonders\n\n\nTrue to his character as a wandering beggar, Odysseus lay down to rest\non a pile of sheepskins in the portico of the house. His mind was full\nof the events of the day, and of the terrible task which he had to\nperform on the morrow. When he thought of all the insults which had\nbeen heaped upon him in his own house, he ground his teeth with rage,\nand muttered bitter curses against the wooers. As if on purpose to\nprovoke him further, just at this moment Melantho, and several of the\nother women, who slept in the town, came forth from the house, and\npassed by him with shrill laughter and merry gibes. Then his heart\ngrowled within him, even as a mother-hound growls over her whelps when\nshe sees a stranger approaching, and in a sudden impulse of fury he\nstarted up to slay those faithless women on the spot; but repressing\nhis mad purpose he smote his breast and rebuked his fiery spirit. Had\nhe not borne even worse than this on the day when the Cyclops devoured\nhis comrades in the cave?\n\nWhen anger and shame had had their turn, other and more pressing\nanxieties came crowding upon him, banishing sleep from his eyelids.\nHow was he with such help as Telemachus could give him to overpower\nand slay a hundred men in the prime of their youth and strength? It\nseemed an impossible feat, and his heart quaked within him as he\ncounted those fearful odds.\n\nAt last sleep came upon him unawares, and in a dream he saw his divine\nfriend and helper, Athene, standing by him, robed in awful beauty.\n\"Where is thy faith?\" she asked, in sweet and solemn tones. \"Dost thou\ndoubt my power to help thee? Know this, that with me at thy side thou\ncouldst rout and slay a thousand armed men. Sleep on, then, and vex\nthyself no more; in a few short hours all thy trials shall be passed,\nand thou shalt rest in triumph under thine own roof-tree.\" Then she\ntouched his brow with her finger, and departed; and after that he\nslept on soundly until dawn.\n\nIn the first grey light of morning he awoke, roused by a sound as of\none wailing within the house. He sat up in his bed and listened: it\nwas the voice of Penelope, his wife; for she too had had her dreams,\nsweet, indeed, while they lasted, but bitter to her waking memory. She\nthought that her husband came to her, in all the glory of his manhood,\neven as when he set out for Troy, and put his arms about her, and\nkissed her tenderly. Therefore she wept and wailed, thinking that it\nwas another false vision, sent by some hostile deity to mock her\nwidowhood.\n\nWhat a sound was that for the lonely watcher before the house!\n\"Patience, fond, sad heart!\" he murmured to himself, \"this very night\nthou shalt hold me in thine arms, and sob out thy sorrows on my\nbreast.\" With that he rose to his feet, and lifting up his hands to\nheaven put up a prayer to Zeus: \"Dread sire of gods, if with good will\nye have brought me thus far, after so many perils by land and by\nwater, send me a sign from heaven, and reveal unto me your purpose by\nthe lips of one of those that be within the house.\"\n\nA loud peal of thunder was heard in answer to his prayer; and a second\nsign was sent by the voice of a woman in the house. She was one of\ntwelve maid-servants, whose duty it was to grind wheat and barley for\nthe daily supply of bread. The others had finished their task, but\nshe, being old and weak, was still toiling at her mill. When she heard\nthe thunder she stopped for a moment, and thus uttered her complaint:\n\"Thunder in a clear sky! That bodes ill to some that be here. Heaven\ngrant that it may be to the wooers, for whom day by day I suffer this\ncruel toil, making meal for them! May this be the very last time that\nthey sit down to meat in this house!\" So saying, she returned to her\nlabour, and Odysseus rejoiced at the double sign which had been\nvouchsafed to him.\n\nBy this time the whole household was afoot, and a score of busy hands\nwere at work, under the direction of Eurycleia, preparing for the\ncoming of the wooers. For it was a general holiday, being the festival\nof Apollo, and the guests were expected earlier than usual. Some went\nto the public fountain to fetch water, some swept and sprinkled the\nfloor, and some sponged the tables and scoured the drinking vessels.\nPresently the herdsmen came in, driving before them the beasts for\nsacrifice; and of these the first to arrive was Eum\u00e6us, who brought\nthree fat hogs as his part of the daily tribute. Leaving his charge to\ngrub about in the courtyard, he came up to Odysseus, and inquired how\nhe had fared among the wooers on the previous day. \"I fared ill,\"\nanswered Odysseus, \"and ill fare the villains who deal thus with the\nstranger under another man's roof!\"\n\nA rude voice here broke in upon him, and Melanthius the goatherd\nthrust himself between them, jostling Odysseus, and reviling him in\nbrutal terms, \"What, still loitering here, thou vagabond? Wilt thou go\nbegging at other men's tables, or art thou waiting to taste of my\nfists?\" Odysseus deigned no reply, but shook his head, biding his\ntime.\n\nAnother herdsman now entered the courtyard; this was Philoetius, who\nhad charge of the herds of Odysseus on the mainland. He brought a\nheifer and two or three fat goats, having crossed over to Ithaca by\nthe ferry. When he saw Odysseus he took Eum\u00e6us aside, and inquired who\nhe was. \"He is of kingly aspect,\" remarked the new-comer, \"in spite of\nhis wretched garb. But even kings may come to beggary, if it be\nHeaven's will.\"\n\nHaving heard from Eum\u00e6us what he had to tell, Philoetius approached\nOdysseus, and taking his right hand greeted him kindly, saying:\n\"Welcome, old friend, for my master's sake! E'en such, methinks, is\nhis case, if he still lives and looks upon the daylight. Ah! what a\nthought is that! It brings the sweat of agony to my brow when I think\nthat even now he may be wandering in rags from door to door, begging\nfor a morsel of bread, while his flocks and herds roam in thousands on\nthe hills. What shall I do? It is not to be borne that all this wealth\nshould increase and multiply, to feed the mouths of thieves and\nrogues. Often have I resolved to drive off my cattle into a far\ncountry, and no longer to abet these men in their riotous living; but\nmy duty to Telemachus, and the hope that even now my lord may return,\nstill hold me back.\"\n\nPerceiving the neatherd to be loyal and staunch, Odysseus resolved to\ntake him partly into his confidence, and answered accordingly: \"Thy\nhope is nearer to fulfilment than thou thinkest. Hear me swear, by the\nhearth of Odysseus, and by the board at which I have fed, that before\nthou leavest Ithaca thou shalt see thy master with thine own\neyes--thou shalt see him slaying the wooers who play the master here.\"\n\n\"Would that I might live to behold that day!\" cried Philoetius. \"May I\nnever eat bread again, if the wooers felt not the might of my hands.\"\nEum\u00e6us also declared himself ready to risk all by the side of\nOdysseus.\n\nWhile they were thus conversing, the whole body of the wooers came\nthronging into the house, and the daily banquet began. At the inner\nend of the hall, commanding the door which led to the women's\nquarters, was a sort of platform or dais of stone, raised to some\nheight above the general level of the floor, and facing the main\nentrance. Here Telemachus, as giver of the feast, was seated; and\nwhile the servants were handing round the dishes he called Odysseus\nfrom his place by the door, and made him sit down by his side. \"Sit\ndown here,\" he said, \"and eat and drink thy fill. And you, sirs,\" he\nadded, addressing the wooers, \"keep a guard on your hands and your\ntongues. This is no tavern, but my own house, and I will not suffer my\nguest to be wronged by word or deed under my roof.\"\n\nThis bold speech passed for the present unchallenged, though many a\nthreatening look was directed at the young prince. By order of\nTelemachus, Odysseus received an equal portion with the other guests,\nand the banquet proceeded. Presently a new instance of the wooers'\nbrutality was given, as if they were resolved to keep the edge of his\nanger fresh and keen. The author of this outrage was Ctesippus, a\nwealthy lord of Same. Taking up a bullock's foot from a basket, in\nwhich the refuse of the meal was thrown, he made this merry jest: \"The\nstranger has received an equal share of our meat, as is but right; for\nwho would wish to stint a guest of Telemachus? And now I will make him\na present over and above, that he may bestow somewhat on the\nbathwoman, or some other of the servants.\" Suiting the action to the\nword he hurled the missile with savage force at Odysseus; but he, ever\non the alert, avoided it by bowing his head, and it struck the wall\nwith a crash.\n\n\"Ctesippus,\" said Telemachus sternly, \"it is well for thee that thou\nhast missed, else thou hadst died by my hand. Is it not enough that ye\nslaughter my cattle and pour out my wine like water, but must I sit\nhere day after day while ye fill my house with riot and injury and\noutrage?\"\n\nThe wooers sat silent, being somewhat abashed by the just rebuke; and\nafter a long pause, one of them, whose name was Agelaus, answered\nmildly: \"Telemachus says well, for indeed he hath been sorely\nprovoked. Let there be an end of these mad doings, which it is a shame\nto see. And if Telemachus will be advised by me he will urge his\nmother to make choice of a husband, that he may henceforth dwell\nunmolested in his father's house. Why will she delay us further?\nSurely by this time she must have given up all hope of ever seeing\nOdysseus again.\"\n\n\"Now by the woes of my father!\" answered Telemachus, \"I hinder her not\nfrom wedding whom she pleases; nay, I bid her do so, and offer bridal\ngifts besides. But I cannot drive her by force from my doors.\"\n\nHis words had a strange effect on the wooers: with one accord they\nbroke out into a yelling peal of laughter, like women in a hysteric\nfit, while their eyes were filled with tears. And, more awful still!\ntheir meat dropped blood as they conveyed it to their lips, and an\nunearthly wailing was heard, like the cry of a spirit in torment.\n\nAmong those present was Theoclymenus, the man of second sight, and in\nthat very hour the vision came upon him, and he cried aloud from the\nplace where he sat: \"Woe unto you, ye doomed and miserable men! Thick\ndarkness is wrapped about you, the darkness of the grave! All the air\nis loud with wailing, and your cheeks are wet with tears. See, see!\nthe walls and the rafters are sprinkled with blood, and the porch and\nthe courtyard are thronged with ghosts, hurrying downward to the\nnether pit; and the sun has died out of heaven, and all the house lies\nin darkness and the shadow of death.\"\n\nBut the wooers had now recovered from their strange fit, and they\nlaughed gaily at the terrible warning of the seer. \"Poor man!\" said\nEurymachus, \"he has left his wits at home. Go, someone, and show him\nthe way to the town, if he finds it so dark here.\"\n\n\"I need no guide,\" answered Theoclymenus, \"I have eyes and ears, and\nfeet, and a steady brain, so that I shall not go astray. Farewell,\nunhappy men! Your hour of grace is past.\" And forthwith he arose and\nwent his way to the town.\n\nWhen he was gone the wooers began jeering at Telemachus, and taunted\nhim with the behaviour of his guests. \"Thou hast a rare taste,\" said\none, \"in the choice of thy company! First, this filthy beggar that\ncumbers the ground with his greedy carcass, and after him comes the\nmad prophet, and screams like a raven over our meat\"\n\nOne meaning glance passed between Telemachus and his father; the day\nwas drawing on, and they cared not now to bandy words with the wooers.\nAnd so the merry feast came to an end with jesting, and mirth, and\nlaughter; and after a few short hours they were to sit down to\nsupper--such a supper as they had never tasted before, with a hero and\na goddess to spread the board.\n\n\n\n\nThe Bow of Odysseus\n\n\nI\n\nThe time had now arrived for the great trial of strength and skill of\nwhich Penelope had spoken, and which was to decide deeper and deadlier\nissues than those of marriage. Among the treasures which Odysseus had\nleft behind him was a famous bow, which he had received as a gift from\nIphitus, son of Eurytus, whom he met in his youth during a visit to\nMessene. He who strung this bow, and shot an arrow through a line of\naxes set up in the hall, was to be rewarded by the hand of Penelope.\n\n\"Mother, it is time!\" whispered Telemachus, soon after the departure\nof Theoclymenus. Obeying the signal, Penelope, who had been sitting in\nthe hall listening to the talk of the wooers, left her place, and\nascending a steep staircase made her way to the store-room, which was\nsituated at the farther end of the house. In her hand she carried a\nbrazen key with a handle of ivory; and when she came to the door, she\nloosened the strap which served to draw the bolt from the outside, and\ninserting the key drew back the bolt. The double doors flew open with\na crash, and the treasury with all its wealth was revealed. Great\ncoffers of cedar-wood lined the walls, filled with fine raiment, which\nher own hands had wrought. It was a cool and quiet retreat, dimly\nlighted, remote from all rude sounds, full of fragrant odours, and fit\nto guard the possessions of a prince. And there, hanging from a pin,\nand heedfully wrapped in its case, was seen the fatal bow. She took it\ndown, and, sitting on one of the coffers, laid it on her knees, and\ngazed on it fondly with her eyes full of tears. How often had she seen\nit in the hands of Odysseus, when he went forth at sunrise to hunt the\nhare and the deer! How often had she taken it from him when he came\nback at evening loaded with the spoils of the chase! And now a keen\nshaft from this very bow was to cut the last tender chord of memory,\nand make her another man's wife!\n\nWith a heavy heart she took the bow with its quiver in her hands, and\ndescending the staircase re-entered the hall, followed by her maidens,\nwho carried a chest containing the axes.\n\n\"Behold the bow, fair sirs!\" she said to the wooers, \"and behold me,\nthe prize for this fine feat of archery!\" Therewith she gave the bow\nto Eum\u00e6us, who received it with tears; and Philoetius wept likewise\nwhen he saw the treasured weapon of his lord. These signs of emotion\nstirred the anger of Antinous, who rebuked the herdsmen fiercely.\n\"Peace, fools!\" he cried. \"Peace, miserable churls! Why pierce ye the\nheart of the lady with your howlings? Has she not grief enough\nalready? Go forth, and howl with the dogs outside, and we will make\ntrial of the bow; yet me thinks it will be long ere anyone here shall\nstring it\"\n\n\"Anyone save thyself, thou wouldst say!\" rejoined Telemachus with a\nloud laugh. Then, seeing his mother regarding him with gentle\nreproach, he added: \"Tis strange that I should feel so gay and light\nof heart at the moment when I am about to lose my mother. Zeus,\nmethinks, has turned my brain, and made me laugh when I should weep.\nBut come, ye bold wooers, which of you will be the first to enter the\nlists for this matchless prize, a lady without peer in all the land of\nHellas? Why sit ye thus silent? Must I show you the way? So be it,\nthen; and if I can bend the bow, and shoot an arrow straight, the\nprize shall be mine, and my mother shall abide here in her widowed\nstate.\"\n\nSo saying he sprang up, flung off his cloak, and laid aside his sword.\nAnd first he made a long shallow trench in the floor of the hall, and\nset up the axes with their double heads in a straight line, stamping\ndown the earth about the handles to make all firm. Then he took the\nbow from Eum\u00e6us; it was a weighty and powerful weapon, fashioned from\nthe horns of an ibex, which were firmly riveted into a massive bridge,\nand great force was required to string it. Telemachus set the end\nagainst the floor, and strove with all his might to drive the string\ninto its socket. Three times he tried, and failed; but the fourth\ntime, making a great effort, he was on the point of succeeding, when\nhis father nodded to him to desist. \"Plague on it!\" cried Telemachus,\nlaying the bow aside with an air of vexation, \"must I be called a\npoltroon all my life, or is it that I have not yet attained the full\nmeasure of my strength? Let the others now take their turn.\"\n\nThen one by one the wooers rose up, in the order in which they sat,\nand tried to bend the bow. The first to essay it was Leiodes, a\nsoothsayer, and a man of gentle and godly mind. But he was a soft\nliver, unpractised in all manly pastimes, and the bow was like iron in\nhis white, womanish hands. \"I fear that this bow will make an end of\nmany a bold spirit,\" he said, little guessing how true his words were\nto prove; \"for better it were to die than to go away beaten and broken\nmen, after all the long years of our wooing.\"\n\n\"Fie on thee!\" cried Antinous, \"thinkest thou that there are no better\nmen here than thou art? Doubt not that one of those present shall bend\nthe bow and win the lady.\" Then he called Melanthius, and bade him\nlight a fire, and bring a ball of lard to anoint the bow and make it\neasier to bend. The lard was brought, and the wooers sat in turn by\nthe fire, rubbing and anointing the bow, but all to no purpose. Only\nAntinous and Eurymachus still held back, each in the full assurance\nthat he, and none other, had strength to bend the bow.\n\nII\n\nOdysseus sat watching the wooers from his place at the upper end of\nthe hall, and his heart misgave him when he thought of the appalling\ntask which he had undertaken. He had acquitted himself like a hero in\nmany a hard-fought field, but never in all his life had he faced such\nodds as these. While he thus mused, and weighed the chances in his\nmind, he saw Eum\u00e6us and Philoetius leave the hall together, and pass\nout through the courtyard gate. Then a sudden thought struck him, and\nmuttering to himself, \"I must risk it,\" he rose and followed the two\nmen. He found them talking together outside the courtyard fence, and\nin order to make trial of their temper he addressed them in these\ncautious terms: \"Tell me truly, good friends, which side would ye\ntake, if by some miracle Odysseus suddenly appeared in this house?\nWould ye be for the wooers or for him?\"\n\nEum\u00e6us and Philoetius with one voice protested that they were ready to\nhazard their lives for the rights of their master, whereupon Odysseus\nhesitated no longer, but answered: \"The miracle has been wrought; I am\nhe! After twenty years of toil and wandering Heaven hath brought me\nhome. I have watched ye both, and I know that ye alone among all the\nthralls remain true to me. Only continue steadfast for this day, and\nyour reward is assured. I will build houses for ye both, close to my\nown, and ye shall dwell there with your wives, as my friends and\nneighbours, equals in honour with Telemachus, my son.\"\n\nThe swineherd and neatherd listened with amazement, willing to\nbelieve, but still half in doubt; but when Odysseus showed them the\nscar, which they had seen many a time before, they were convinced, and\nembraced their old master with tears and cries of joy. Having allowed\nthem some moments to indulge their feelings, Odysseus checked them\nwith a warning gesture. \"Take heed to yourselves,\" he said, \"or your\ncries will betray us. And now mark what I shall tell you. I will go\nback to the house first, and do ye two follow me one by one. To thee,\nPhiloetius, I give charge to make fast the gate of the courtyard, with\nbolt, and with bar, and with cord. And thou, Eum\u00e6us, when the time\ncomes, shalt bring the bow and place it in my hands, whether the\nwooers cry out on thee or not; and when thou hast given me the bow, go\nstraightway and command the women to make fast the doors of their\napartments, and remain quiet by their work until I have finished what\nI have to do.\"\n\nAt the moment when Odysseus returned to his place in the hall,\nEurymachus was just making a last attempt to bend the bow. \"Out on\nit!\" he cried, finding all his efforts of no avail. \"It is a shame to\nthink how far beneath Odysseus we all are in the strength of our\nhands; 'tis this that stings me, much more than the loss of the lady.\"\n\n\"Thou mistakest the cause,\" answered Antinous. \"This day is the holy\nfeast of the divine archer, Apollo, and doubtless he is jealous\nbecause we try our skill in his own art on his sacred day. Let us\nleave the axes where they stand, and try our fortune again to-morrow.\"\n\nThe proposal was received with general applause, and forthwith the\nwhole company called loud for wine, and began drinking heavily to\ndrown their disappointment Odysseus watched the progress of the revel\nwith grim satisfaction, and when the flushed faces and thick talk of\nthe wooers showed that they were far gone in drunkenness he asked,\nwith an air of deep humility, to be allowed to try his hand at\nstringing the bow. His request was greeted with a loud cry of contempt\nand indignation from all the wooers; and Antinous especially was\nhighly incensed, threatening him with dire pains and penalties for his\npresumption. Hereupon Penelope interposed, and rebuked Antinous for\nhis violence. \"Why should not the stranger try his skill with the\nrest?\" asked she. \"Thinkest thou that the poor man will win me for his\nwife if he succeeds? Sure I am that he is not so foolish as to\nentertain such a thought.\"\n\n\"'Tis not for that,\" said Eurymachus, answering her. \"He cannot be so\nmad as that. But what a shame to all this noble company if a houseless\nbeggar should accomplish a feat which none of us was able to perform.\"\n\n\"Talk not of shame,\" replied Penelope with scorn. \"Are ye not covered\nwith shame already, by your foul deeds done in this house in the\nabsence of its lord? Give him the bow, I say! And if he string it, by\nApollo's grace, I will clothe him in a new cloak and doublet, and give\nhim a sharp javelin, to keep off dogs and men, and a two-edged sword,\nand sandals for his feet, and give him safe conduct to whatsoever\nplace he desires to reach.\"\n\nThe decisive moment was at hand, and Telemachus saw the necessity of\nremoving his mother from the scene of the approaching conflict.\n\"Mother,\" he said in a tone of authority, \"leave these things to me; I\nam master here. Evening draws on, and it is time for thee to retire.\"\n\nWhen Penelope had withdrawn, Eum\u00e6us took the bow, and was about to\ncarry it to Odysseus, but paused half-way, in doubt and alarm, for a\nperfect storm of threats and abuse assailed his ears. \"Halt, thou dog!\nPut down the bow! Art thou tired of thy life?\" Appalled by the\nmenacing cries of the wooers, the swineherd stood hesitating; but\nTelemachus raised his voice, and commanded him instantly to deliver\nthe bow to Odysseus. \"I will teach thee,\" he said, \"who is thy master;\nthou shalt carry the marks of my hands to thy farm, if thou do not as\nI tell thee. Would that I could as easily drive the whole of this\ndrunken rout from my doors!\"\n\n\"Well bragged, Sir Valiant!\" cried Antinous; and all the wooers\nlaughed boisterously when they heard him. Seizing his opportunity\nwhile their attention was thus diverted, Eum\u00e6us came and placed the\nbow in the hands of Odysseus; then, calling Eurycleia, he bade her\nmake fast the door of the women's apartments. Meanwhile Philoetius\nsecured the gates of the courtyard, and returning to his place sat\nwatching the movements of Odysseus. With anxious eye the hero\nscrutinised the great weapon, turning it this way and that, to see if\nit had been injured by worms or natural decay. To his great joy he\nfound that it was sound and untouched. Then, easily as a minstrel\nfastens a new cord to a lyre, without effort he strung the bow, and\nbending it made the string twang loud and clear, like the shrill voice\nof the swallow.\n\nA hundred mocking eyes and sneering faces had been turned towards him,\nas he sat fingering the bow and weighing it in his hands; but pale\ngrew those faces now, and blank was that gaze. To add to their terror,\nat this moment a loud peal of thunder shook the house. Filled with\nhigh courage by the happy omen, Odysseus took an arrow, and, fitting\nit to the string, sent it with sure aim from the place where he sat\nalong the whole line of axeheads, from the first to the last.\n\n\"Telemachus,\" he said, \"thy guest hath not shamed thee. My hand is\nfirm, and mine eye is true, poor worn-out wanderer though I be. Now\nlet us give these fair guests their supper, and afterwards entertain\nthem with music and with dancing, which are the fit accompaniment of a\nfeast.\"\n\nThen he beckoned to his son to draw near; and Telemachus made haste,\nand came and stood by his father's side, armed with sword and lance.\n\n\n\n\nThe Slaying of the Wooers\n\n\nI\n\nStripping off his rags, and girding them round his waist, Odysseus\ntook the quiver, and poured out all the arrows on the ground at his\nfeet. \"Now guide my hand, Apollo,\" he cried, \"and make sure mine aim,\nfor this time I will shoot at a mark which never man hit before.\"\n\nTherewith he bent his bow again, and pointed the arrow at Antinous,\nwho just at that moment was raising a full goblet of wine to his lips.\nLittle thought that proud and insolent man, as the wine gleamed red\nbefore him, that he had tasted his last morsel, and drunk his last\ndrop. He was in the prime of his manhood, surrounded by his friends,\nand in the midst of a joyous revel; who would dream of death and doom\nin such an hour? Yet at that very instant he felt a sharp, sudden\npang, and fell back in his seat, pierced through the throat by the\narrow of Odysseus. The blood poured from his nostrils, he let fall the\ncup, and spurning the table with his feet in his agony he overset it,\nand the bread and meat were scattered on the floor.\n\nThen arose a wild clamour and uproar among the wooers, and starting\nfrom their seats they sought eagerly for the weapons which were wont\nto hang along the walls; but not a spear, not a shield, was to be\nseen. Finding themselves thus baffled, they turned furiously on\nOdysseus, shouting, \"Down with the knave!\" \"Hew him in pieces!\" \"Fling\nhis carcass to the vultures!\" As yet they had not recognised him, and\nthey thought that he had slain Antinous by mischance.\n\nThey were soon undeceived. \"Ye dogs!\" he cried, in a terrible voice,\n\"long have ye made my house into a den of thieves, thinking that I had\ndied long ago in a distant land. Ye have devoured my living, and wooed\nmy wife, and mishandled my servants, having no fear of god or man\nbefore your eyes. But now are ye all fallen into the pit which ye have\ndigged, and are fast bound in the bonds of death.\"\n\nLike beaten hounds, that dastardly crew cowered before the man whom\nthey had wronged, and every heart quaked with fear. Presently\nEurymachus stood forward, and tried to make terms for them all. \"If\nthou be indeed Odysseus,\" he said, \"thou speakest justly concerning\nthe evil doings of the wooers. And there lies the cause of the\nmischief, Antinous, struck down by thy righteous hand. He it was who\nsought to slay Telemachus, that he might usurp thy place, and make\nhimself king in Ithaca. But now that he is gone to his own place, let\nus, the rest, find favour in thy sight. And as for thy possessions\nwhich have been wasted, we will pay thee back out of our own goods, as\nmuch as thou shalt require.\"\n\nBut there were no signs of relenting on that stern, set face. \"Talk\nnot to me of payment,\" he answered, with a brow as black as night; \"ye\nshall pay me with your lives, every one of you. Fight, if ye will, or\ndie like sheep. Not one of you shall escape.\"\n\nThus driven to extremity, Eurymachus drew his sword and shouting to\nthe others to follow his example he picked up a table to serve him as\na shield, and raising his war-cry rushed at Odysseus. In the midst of\nhis onset an arrow struck him in the liver, and he fell doubled-up\nover a table, smiting the floor with his forehead. Then he rolled over\nwith a groan, and his eyes grew dim in death.\n\nBefore Odysseus could fix another arrow to the string, Amphinomus was\nupon him, with sword uplifted to slay him. Telemachus saw his father's\nperil, and thrust Amphinomus in the back with his spear. The fall of\ntheir leaders arrested the advance of the wooers, and they drew back\nin a body to the lower end of the hall. Leaving the spear in the body\nof the fallen man, Telemachus ran to fetch armour for himself and\nOdysseus, and the two herdsmen. Quickly he brought shields and helmets\nand lances for the four, and they arrayed themselves and took their\nstand together on the platform.\n\nWhile these preparations were in progress, Odysseus continued\nshowering his arrows among the huddled troop of terrified men; and at\nevery shot one of the wooers fell. At last Melanthius, the goatherd,\nmade a desperate effort to save his party. Assisted by several of the\nwooers, he climbed up the wall of the banquet-room, and made his exit\nthrough the open timbers at the top into a narrow passage which gave\naccess to the inner part of the house. Presently he returned, laden\nwith spears and shields and helmets, which he had found in the chamber\nwhere they had been stored away by Telemachus.\n\nWhat was the dismay of Odysseus when he saw his enemies arming\nthemselves with spear and shield, and brandishing long lances in their\nhands! \"Telemachus!\" he cried, \"we are betrayed! The women have sold\nus to the wooers.\" \"Alas! I have erred,\" answered Telemachus, \"for I\nleft the door of the armoury open, and one of them has observed it.\"\n\nWhile they thus debated, Eum\u00e6us saw the goatherd making his way out of\nthe hall again by the same exit. \"It is the traitor Melanthius,\" he\nwhispered; \"now have we need of prompt action, or we are all undone.\"\n\nOdysseus had now recovered his courage, and he issued his orders\nwithout losing another moment. \"Go thou with the neatherd,\" he said to\nEum\u00e6us, \"and seize that villain before he has time to return. Bind him\nhand and foot, and come back with all speed to the hall\"\n\nAt the side of the hall, close to the platform where Odysseus and his\nparty were stationed, there was a door leading into the passage\nalready mentioned. Through this the two men passed, and made their way\nstealthily to the armoury. There they waited on either side of the\ndoor for Melanthius, whom they heard moving within. Before long he\ncame out, bearing in one hand a helmet, and in the other an old\nbattered shield, once the property of Laertes. Together they fell upon\nhim, dragged him down by the hair, and having bound him tight with a\nlong cord they hauled him up to a beam of the roof and left him\nhanging. \"Long and sweet be thy slumbers, goatherd!\" said Eum\u00e6us as he\ncontemplated his work, \"thou hast a soft bed, such as thou lovest.\nRest there till the morning light shall call thee to make breakfast\nfor the wooers.\"\n\nWhen they returned to the hall they found that a new ally had joined\ntheir party, in the person of Mentor, the old friend of Odysseus. No\none saw when he came thither; but there he was, and right glad they\nwere to see him. Very different were the feelings of the wooers when\nthey saw their enemies thus reinforced, and one of them, named\nAgelaus, cried out upon Mentor, and threatened him, saying: \"Give\nplace, rash man, or thou wilt bring destruction on thyself and all thy\nhouse.\"\n\nWhen he heard that, Mentor was wroth, and rebuked Odysseus as slow of\nhand and cold of heart. \"Why standest thou idle?\" he cried. \"Get thee\nto thy weapons, and finish the work which thou hast to do, if thou art\nverily that Odysseus who wrought such havoc among the Trojans in the\nnine years' war.\"\n\nWith these words the supposed Mentor vanished as mysteriously as he\nhad appeared, and a little swallow was seen darting hither and thither\namong the smoke-blackened beams of the roof.\n\nThe wooers understood not in whose presence they had been, and,\nthinking that Mentor had fled before their threats, they took courage\nagain, and prepared to make a fresh assault. Agelaus now took the\nlead, and at his command six of them advanced and hurled their spears.\nBut they were all dazed with drink, and weakened by long habits of\nloose indulgence, and not one of their weapons took effect.\n\n\"Now hurl ye your spears!\" shouted Odysseus, and the four lances flew,\nand four wooers bit the dust. At the next discharge from the wooers\nTelemachus received a slight wound on the wrist, and Eum\u00e6us was\nsimilarly injured on the shoulder by the spear of the brutal\nCtesippus. A moment after Ctesippus himself was struck down by the\nlance of Philoetius, who mocked him as he fell saying: \"There is for\nthe ox-foot which thou didst lately bestow on Odysseus, thou noisy\nrailer!\"\n\nAnd so the great fight went on, and at every cast of the spear\nOdysseus and his men added another to the list of the slain. Seeing\ntheir numbers dwindling fast, the wretched remnant of the wooers lost\nheart altogether and huddled together like sheep at the end of the\nhall. To complete their discomfiture a terrible voice was suddenly\nheard in the air, and a gleam as from a bright shield was seen high up\namong the rafters. \"Tis Athene herself come to our aid!\" cried\nOdysseus; \"advance, and make an end of them. Athene is on our side!\"\nForthwith they all sprang down from the platform and charged the\nwooers, of whom some dozen still remained alive. What followed was not\na battle, but a massacre. Like a drove of kine plunging frantically\nover a field, tortured by the sting of the hovering gadfly--like a\nflock of small birds scattered by the sudden swoop of a falcon--the\npanic-stricken wooers fled hither and thither through the hall,\nseeking shelter behind pillars and under tables from the blows which\nrained upon them. But vain was their flight. In a very short time the\nlast of that guilty band was sent to his account, and the great act of\nvengeance was completed.\n\nII\n\nLike a lion fresh from the slaughter stood Odysseus, leaning on his\nspear, and covered with blood from head to foot. As he glared round\nhim to see if any of his foes were still alive, his eye fell on\nPhemius, the minstrel, who was crouching in a corner near the side\ndoor, and clinging in terror to his harp. Seeing the stern gaze of\nOdysseus fixed upon him Phemius sprang forward, with a sudden impulse,\nand threw himself at the conqueror's feet, \"Pity me, Odysseus,\" he\ncried, \"and spare me! Thy days will be darkened by remorse if thou\nslay the sweet minstrel whom gods and men revere. I am no common\nschool-taught bard, who sings what he has learned by rote; but in mine\nown heart is a sweet fountain of melody, which shall be shed like the\ndew from heaven on thy fame, and keep it green for ever. Therefore\nstay thy hand, and harm me not. Telemachus, thy son, knows that it was\nnot of mine own will, nor for greed of gain, that I sang among the\nwooers, but they compelled me by force, being so many, and all\nstronger than I.\"\n\nThus appealed to, Telemachus readily confirmed what the minstrel had\nsaid, which was indeed the literal truth. Then he thought of the\ntrusty Medon, who had been kind to him when a child, and remained\nloyal to the last to him and Penelope. \"I trust he has not been slain\namong the wooers,\" he said. \"Medon, if thou art still alive, come\nforth and fear nothing.\"\n\nWhen he heard that, Medon, who had been huddled in a heap behind a\nchair, covered with a freshly-flayed ox-hide, flung off his covering,\nand came running to Telemachus. The poor man was still half-mad with\nterror. \"Here I am!\" he gasped, with staring eyes, \"speak to thy\nfather, that he slay me not in his rage and his fury,\"\n\nOdysseus smiled grimly at the poor serving-man, and bade him be of\ngood cheer. \"Live,\" he said, \"thou and the minstrel, that ye may know,\nand tell it also to others, how much better are good deeds than evil.\nNow go ye forth and wait in the courtyard until I have finished what\nremains to be done.\" So forth they went, and sat down by the altar of\nZeus, glancing fearfully about them, as if expecting every moment to\nbe their last.\n\nAs soon as they were gone Odysseus walked slowly up and down the hall\nto see if any of the wooers still survived. But there was no sound or\nmotion, save the tread of his own feet, to break the awful stillness\nin that chamber of death. There they lay, stark and silent, heap upon\nheap, like a great draught of fishes which have been hauled to shore\nin a drag-net, and have gasped out their lives on the beach. Having\nassured himself that he had not done the work negligently, he bade\nTelemachus summon the nurse, Eurycleia. Telemachus obeyed, and going\nto the door of the women's apartments, he smote upon it, and called\naloud to the nurse. A moment after the bolts were drawn back, and\nEurycleia entered the hall. When she saw Odysseus standing among the\nheaps of slain wooers, she opened her mouth to utter a cry of triumph,\nbut Odysseus checked her, saying: \"Hold thy peace, dame, and give not\nvoice to thy joy: it is an impious thing to exult over the dead. They\nare the victims of heaven's righteous law, and I was but the\ninstrument of divine vengeance. Tell me now which of the women in the\nhouse have dishonoured me, and which of them be blameless.\"\n\n\"Behold I will tell thee all the truth,\" answered the nurse; \"fifty\nwomen there are in all in thy house, that card the wool and bear the\nyoke of bondage. And of these twelve have been faithless, honouring\nneither me nor Penelope, their mistress. But now let me go and tell\nthe news to thy wife, who all this time has been lying in a deep\nsleep.\"\n\n\"Rouse her not yet,\" said Odysseus, \"but go quickly and send those\nguilty women hither.\"\n\nWhile Eurycleia was gone to summon the maid-servants, Telemachus and\nthe two herdsmen began, by the command of Odysseus, to set the hall in\norder, and wash away the traces of slaughter. Presently, with loud\nweeping and lamentation, the wretched women entered, and were\ncompelled to assist in the horrid task. The bodies of the slain were\ncarried out, and laid in order along the wall of the courtyard. Then\nthey washed and scoured the tables, and scraped the floor with spades;\nand when all was ready Odysseus bade his son and the two others to\ndrive the women forth, and slay them with the edge of the sword. So\nthese three drove them into a corner of the courtyard, and Eum\u00e6us and\nPhiloetius drew their swords to slay them. But Telemachus held them\nback saying: \"Let them die in shame, even as they have lived.\" So they\ntook a long ship's cable, which was lying in an outhouse, and\nstretched it across an angle of the wall; to this they attached twelve\nnooses, and left the women hanging there by the neck until they were\ndead.\n\nA horrid death was reserved for the traitor Melanthius. Dragging him\nout into the courtyard, they cut off his nose and ears, and his hands\nand feet, and so left him to die.\n\nAfter that they washed themselves and went back to the hall. Then\nOdysseus bade Eurycleia kindle a fire, and bring sulphur to purify the\nchamber. And having thoroughly cleansed the house from the fumes of\nslaughter, he sat down to wait for the coming of his wife.\n\n\n\n\nOdysseus and Penelope\n\n\nI\n\nHer face beaming with joy, and her feet stumbling over one another in\ntheir haste, Eurycleia ascended to the chamber where Penelope lay\nsleeping. \"Awake, Penelope, awake!\" she cried, standing by the\nbedside; \"come and see with thine own eyes the fulfilment of all thy\nhopes. Odysseus has come home at last, and all the wooers lie slain by\nhis hand!\"\n\n\"Thou art mad, nurse,\" answered Penelope pettishly, turning in her bed\nand rubbing her eyes; \"why mockest thou me in my sorrow with thy\nfolly? and why hast thou disturbed me in the sweetest sleep that ever\nI had since the fatal, the accursed day when my lord sailed for Troy?\nBut for thy years and thy faithful service I would have paid thee\nunkindly for this wanton insult\"\n\n\"Heaven forbid that I should mock or insult thee, dear child!\" cried\nthe nurse, her eyes filling with tears. \"I have told thee naught but\nthe truth. The stranger whom we thought a beggar was Odysseus himself.\nTelemachus knew this all the time, but kept it from thee by the\ncommand of his father.\"\n\n\"May the gods ever bless thee for these tidings!\" said Penelope,\nspringing from the couch, and throwing her arms round the nurse's\nneck. \"But tell me truly, how did he with his single hand gain the\nmastery over such a multitude?\"\n\n\"I saw not how it was done,\" answered Eurycleia. \"I heard but the\ngroans of the men as they were stricken, for I was shut up with the\nhandmaids in the women's chamber. When it was over, he called me, and\nI found him standing among the slain, like a lion by his prey. It was\na sight to gladden thy heart.\"\n\nBut Penelope's first impulse of joyful surprise had passed, and a cold\nfit of doubt and distrust succeeded, \"It cannot be!\" she murmured;\n\"some god has taken the likeness of my husband, and slain the wooers.\"\nEven when Eurycleia told her how she had discovered the scar, while\nwashing the feet of Odysseus, she remained unshaken in her unbelief.\n\"The counsels of the gods,\" she said, \"are beyond our knowing, and\nthey can take upon them disguises too deep for a poor woman's wit. But\ncome, let us go and see the slaughtered wooers, and their slayer,\nwhoever he be.\"\n\nII\n\nOdysseus was sitting bowed over the fire, which shone redly on his\nface, as he leaned his head upon his hand. He was still clothed in his\nbeggar's rags, and strangely disfigured by the magic power of Athene;\nwhile the red stains of slaughter, which still lay thick upon him,\nserved to render his disguise yet deeper. Small wonder then that\nPenelope hesitated long to acknowledge him for her husband, as she sat\nsome way off scanning his features with timid yet attentive gaze, like\none who strives to decipher a blurred and blotted manuscript. More\nthan once she started up, as if about to fall upon his neck; then the\ngleam which had lighted up her face died away, her arms drooped\nlistlessly at her side, and she remained motionless and cold.\n\nWhen this had lasted for some time, Telemachus, who was present,\nrebuked his mother in angry terms, saying: \"Fie upon thee, my mother!\nhast thou no heart at all? Why holdest thou thus aloof from my father,\nwho has come back to thee after twenty years of suffering and toil?\nBut 'twas ever thus with thee--thou art harder than stone.\"\n\n\"My child,\" answered Penelope, \"I am sore amazed; I cannot speak, or\nask any question, or look him in the face. But if this man be indeed\nmy husband, he knows how to convince me, and scatter all my doubts to\nthe winds, for there are secrets between us whereof no one knoweth,\nsave only ourselves.\"\n\nOdysseus smiled at his wife's caution. \"Not in vain,\" he thought, \"is\nshe known to all the world as the prudent Penelope.\" Then, in order to\ngive her time, he turned to Telemachus and said: \"Come not between my\nwife and me, Telemachus; we shall know each other in due season. I\nhave another charge for thee, and do thou mark heedfully what I shall\nsay. We have slain the noblest in the land, not one, but many, who\nleave a host of friends to take up their cause: how then shall we\nescape the blood feud? We had best look to it warily and well.\"\n\n\"Father,\" answered Telemachus, \"thou hast the name of wise, beyond all\nliving men. Be it thine, therefore, to declare thy counsel, and I will\nfollow it, to the utmost stretch of my power.\"\n\n\"Thus, then, shalt thou do,\" said Odysseus: \"let all the household put\non clean raiment, and bid the minstrel take his harp and make sweet\nmusic for the festal dance. Then foot it merrily, everyone, that all\nthey who pass by the house may think that ye are keeping the marriage\nfeast. In this wise the rumour of the wooers' death shall not reach\nthe town until we have had time to collect our men and prepare for our\ndefence.\"\n\nTelemachus went forthwith to carry out his father's orders. The whole\nhousehold, men and women, arrayed themselves in festal attire, and\nsoon the hall echoed to the throbbing notes of the lyre, and the loud\npatter of the dancers' feet. And those who heard it from without said\nto one another: \"So the long wooing of our queen has come to an end at\nlast! Fickle woman, that could not endure unto the end, and keep faith\nwith the husband of her youth!\"\n\nIII\n\nAfter giving his orders to Telemachus, Odysseus had retired to refresh\nhimself with the bath, and put on fresh raiment, while Penelope\nremained seated in her former place. After an interval of some length\nhe re-entered the hall, and sat down face to face with his wife. But\nwhat miracle was this? The haggard, timeworn beggar was gone, and in\nhis place sat her husband, as she had known him in the days of old,\nwith the added dignity which he had gained by twenty years of\nstrenuous life. But the frost which had lain upon her spirit during\nher long period of weary waiting was not easily to be broken, and\nstill she doubted. After a long silence Odysseus spoke, and now for\nthe first time his tones had a ring of reproach: \"Still not a word for\nthy husband, who has come back to thee after twenty years? Surely the\nvery demon of unbelief possesses thee!\" Even then Penelope made no\nanswer, for she was waiting to put the final test, and at length\nOdysseus gave her the opportunity. \"Go, Eurycleia,\" he said, \"and\nprepare a bed for me; I will leave this iron-hearted wife and go to my\nrest.\"\n\n\"Ay, do so,\" said Penelope, \"take the bed from the chamber which he\nbuilt with his own hands, and lay it in another room, that he may\nslumber there.\" This she said to prove him, for the bed and the\nchamber had a secret history, known only to herself and her husband\nand the faithful nurse.\n\nOdysseus rose bravely to the test: whether divining his wife's purpose\nor not, he exclaimed, with an air of surprise and indignation: \"Lady,\nwhat meanest thou by this order? Who hath moved my bed from its place?\nHe must be of more than mortal skill who could remove it, for it was\nfashioned in wondrous wise, and with my own hands I wrought it, to be\na sign and a secret between thee and me. And this was the manner of\nthe work. Within the courtyard there grew an olive-tree, a fair tree\nand a large, with a world of green leaves, and a stem like a stout\npillar. Round this I built the walls of the chamber with close-fitting\nstones, and roofed it over, and hung the door on its hinges. Then I\nwent to work on the tree, lopping off the boughs, and smoothing the\ntrunk with the adze, so as to fashion it into a bedpost, and beginning\nfrom this I made the frame of a bed, and decorated it with gold and\nsilver and ivory, and over the frame I stretched broad bands of\nox-hide, stained with bright purple. This I tell thee as a sign by\nwhich thou mayest know me.\"\n\nThe last shadow was now removed, and before Odysseus had well ended\nwhat he was saying Penelope sprang towards him, threw her arms round\nhis neck, and covered his face with kisses. \"Be not angry with me, my\ndear lord,\" she murmured tenderly, \"because I held back so long, and\ngave thee not loving welcome, as I do now. Thou art very wise, and\nknowest the dangers which beset a lonely woman who is over hasty to\nbelieve when a stranger comes and calls himself her husband. Many\nthere be that lie in wait to lay snares for a weak and loving heart.\nBut now I know thee for mine own dear love, and now is the winter of\nmy widowhood made glorious summer, since I have seen thy face again.\"\n\nSo they sat locked in each other's arms, that valiant, long-suffering\nman, and his faithful wife, two brave and patient souls, parted so\nlong, and tried so hard, but now united once more in wedded love and\nbliss. The hours went by unheeded, and day would have overtaken them\nin that trance of delight, had not Athene marked them with pity from\nher heavenly seat, and stayed the steeds of the morning in the east,\nand prolonged the reign of night, that the joy of that first meeting\nmight not be broken until they had tasted all its honey to the lees.\n\n\n\n\nConclusion\n\n\nI\n\nEarly next day Odysseus rose and donned his armour, and having charged\nPenelope to keep close in her chamber, and admit no one into the\nhouse, he set forth to visit Laertes on his farm, attended by\nTelemachus and the two faithful herdsmen, all armed to the teeth.\nArrived at the farmhouse he left his companions there, bidding them\nprepare the morning meal, and went out alone to find his father.\nPassing through the courtyard gate, he entered a large plot of ground,\nplanted by Laertes as a garden and orchard; and there he found the old\nman, who was digging about the roots of a young tree. With strange\nemotions Odysseus noted every detail of his dress and figure--the\nsoiled and tattered coat, the gaiters of clouted leather, the old\ngauntlets on his hands, and the goatskin cap. He who had once been the\nwealthiest prince in Ithaca had now the appearance of an ancient\nserving-man, broken down with years and toil.\n\nBut in the midst of his sorrow a freakish whim came into the head of\nOdysseus, characteristic of his subtle and tortuous nature.\nApproaching his father, who was still stooping over his work, he said\nto him in a disguised voice: \"Old man, I perceive that thou art well\nskilled in the gardener's art: never saw I a garden better tended--not\na tree, not a shrub, but bears witness to thy fostering care. And be\nnot wroth with me if I say that is a wonder to see the keeper of so\nfair a garden himself so squalid and unkempt. Surely he whom thou\nservest must be an ungrateful master. Tell me his name, if thou wilt,\nand answer me truly if this be indeed the land of Ithaca to which I am\ncome, as I heard from a man whom I met by the way. He seemed a\nchurlish fellow, and would not stay to answer my questions; for I was\nfain to ask him concerning a friend whom I once entertained in my\nhouse, a native of Ithaca, as he told me, and a son of one Laertes.\nMany days he dwelt with me, eating and drinking of the best, and I\nsent him away laden with rich gifts, gold and silver, and costly\nraiment.\"\n\n\"Friend,\" answered Laertes, shedding tears, \"to Ithaca indeed art thou\ncome, but he of whom thou askest is no longer here. In vain were thy\ngifts bestowed, for he who would have repaid thee richly for all thy\nkindness hath perished long ago, and his bones lie bleaching on the\nbare earth, or at the bottom of the sea. Tell me, how long is it since\nthou didst receive him, and who art thou, and where is thy home?\"\n\n\"I am a man of Alybas,\" replied Odysseus, \"the son of Apheidas the son\nof Polypemon, and Eperitus is my name; and it is now five years since\nOdysseus departed from my home. Fair omens attended him on his\nstarting, and we parted in high hopes that we should meet again in his\nown land.\"\n\nAt these words of Odysseus the poor old man was overwhelmed with\nsorrow, and he heaped dust upon his grey head, groaning in bitterness\nof spirit. Odysseus was moved with pity at the sight of his distress,\nand thinking that he had now tried him enough, he revealed himself,\npointing as proofs to the scar above his knee, and to certain trees\nwhich Laertes had allowed him to call his own when he walked with him,\nhand-in-hand, as a little child, through the garden.\n\nThe sudden shock of joyful recognition was too much for the old man,\nand he fell fainting into his son's arms. When he was somewhat\nrecovered they went back together towards the house, and on the way\nOdysseus spoke of the slaying of the wooers, and of the danger which\nthreatened him from the vengeance of their friends.\n\nII\n\nMeanwhile the news of the wooers' violent death had spread like\nwildfire through the island, and their kinsmen went with loud clamour\nto the house of Odysseus to carry away the dead bodies. When this was\ndone they gathered together at the place of assembly to devise some\nplan of vengeance; and Eupeithes, the father of Antinous, made violent\noutcry against Odysseus for his great act of savage justice.\n\nWhile they were debating, Medon and Phemius appeared on the scene, and\ndescribed the manner in which the wooers had met their end. \"The hand\nof Heaven,\" said Medon, \"was made manifest in the deed. I myself saw\nAthene leading the onset, and your sons were laid low like ripe\nsheaves before the sickle.\" This report chilled their courage not a\nlittle; and Halitherses, seeing the effect produced, exerted all his\neloquence to put an end to the blood feud. Nevertheless more than half\nof those present persisted in their purpose, and donning their armour\nwent forth from the town to meet the party of Odysseus.\n\nThe encounter took place in front of the farmhouse, where Odysseus and\nthe others had just taken their morning meal. Laertes, who seemed to\nhave recovered all the vigour of his youth, led the attack, and by a\nwell-aimed cast of his lance struck down Eupeithes, the leader of the\nopposing party. This success was followed up by a vigorous charge, in\nthe midst of which a supernatural voice was heard in the air, striking\nterror into the assailants of Odysseus, who turned and fled in wild\npanic towards the town. They were hotly pursued, and not a man would\nhave been left alive had not Zeus himself interposed to stay the\nslaughter. By his command Athene acted as mediator between Odysseus\nand the kinsmen of the wooers, and an oath of amnesty was taken on\nboth sides, confirmed with solemn prayer and sacrifice.\n\n\n\n\nPRONOUNCING LIST OF NAMES\n\n\n[Transcriber's note: The orignial list contains characters that are\nnot found in normal ASCII, indicating the long or short stress to be\nput on the vowels. These are rendered below by the characters in\n[square brackets], thus: A \")\" indicates a short vowel, and a \"=\"\nindicates a long. So \"hay\" would be rendered as \"h[=a]\" and \"aha\"\nwould be \"[)a]h[)a]\" and so on.]\n\nAchilles     ([)a]kil'ez)\n\u00c6etes        ([=e]-[=e]'-tez)\n\u00c6g\u00e6an        ([=e]g[=e]'an)\n\u00c6gisthus     ([=e]gis'thus)\n\u00c6gyptus      ([=e]gyp'tus)\n\u00c6olus        ([=e]'[)o]lus)\n\u00c6thon        ([=e]'thon)\nAgamemnon    ([)a]g[)a]m[)e]m'non)\nAgelaus      ([)a]g[)e]l[=a]'us)\nAjax         ([=a]'jax)\nAlcinous     (als[)i]n'-[)o]-us)\nAlcmene      (alkm[=e]'n[=e])\nAlybas       ([=a]l'[)i]bas)\nAmphinomus   (amph[)i]n'[)o]mus)\nAnticleia    (ant[)i]kl[=i]'a)\nAntilochus   (ant[)i]l'[)o]chus)\nAntiphates   (ant[)i]ph'[)a]t[=e]z)\nAntinous     (ant[)i]n'[)o]us)\nAntiphus     (an't[)i]fus)\nApheidas     ([)a]f[=i]'das)\nAphrodite    ([)a]fr[)o]d[=i]'t[=e])\nArcady       (ar'c[)a]d[)i])\nArete        ([=a]r[=e]'t[=e])\nArethusa     ([)a]r[)e]thy[=u]'s[)a])\nArn\u00e6us       (arn[=e]'us)\nArtemis      (ar't[)e]mis)\nArybas       ([)a]'ribas)\nAthene       ([)a]th[=e]'n[=e])\nAtreus       ([=a]'tr[=u]s)\nAurora       ([=o]r[=o]'r[)a])\n\nBo\u00f6tes       (b[)o][=o]'t[=e]z)\n\nCalypso      (k[)a]l[)i]p's[=o])\nCassandra    (cassan'dr[)a])\nCharybdis    (k[)a]rib'dis)\nCimmerians   (simm[)e]'r[)i]ans)\nCirce        (s[)i]r's[=e])\nClyt\u00e6mnestra (cl[=i]t[=e]mn[)e]s'tr[)a])\nCnosus       (kn[=o]'s[)u]s)\nCtesippus    (kt[)e]'s[)i]pus)\nCtesius      (kt[=e]'s[)i]us)\nCyclopes     (s[=i]kl[=o]'p[=e]z)\nCyclops      (s[=i]'klops)\n\nDeiphobus    (d[=e][)i]f'[)o]bus)\nDelos        (d[)e]'los)\nDemeter      (d[=e]m[=e]'t[=e]r)\nDemodocus    (d[=e]m[)o]'d[)o]cus)\nDeucalion    (d[=u]ka'l[)i]on)\nDiomede      (d[)i]'[)o]meed)\nDodona       (d[=o]-d[=o]'n[)a])\nDolius       (d[)o]l'[)i]us)\nDulichium    (dy[=u]l[)i]'-k[)i]um)\n\nEidothea     ([=i]d[=o]'th[)i]-[)e][)a])\nElis         ([=e]'lis)\nElpenor      ([)e]lp[=e]'n[=o]r)\nEperitus     ([)e]p[=e]'r[)i]tus)\nEphialtes    ([)e]f[)i]al't[=e]z)\nEphyra       ([)e]f'[)i]r[)a])\nEriphyle     ([)e]r[)i]f[=i]'l[=e])\nEuboea       (y[=u]b[=e]'a)\nEum\u00e6us       (y[=u]m[=e]'us)\nEupeithes    (y[=u]p[=i]'th[=e]z)\nEurymachus   (y[=u]r[)i]'m[)a]kus)\nEurynomus    (y[=u]r[)i]'n[)o]mus)\nEurycleia    (y[=u]r[=i]cl[=i]'[)a])\nEuryalus     (y[=u]r[=i]'[)a]lus)\nEurylochus   (y[=u]r[)i]l'[)o]kus)\nEurydamas    (y[=u]r[)i]d'[)a]mas)\nEurytus      (y[=u]'r[)i]tus)\n\nHades        (h[=a]'d[=e]z)\nHalitherses  (h[)a]l[)i]ther's[=e]z)\nHelios       (h[)e]'l[)i]os)\nHeph\u00e6stus    (h[=e]f[=e]s'tus)\nHera         (h[=e]'r[)a])\nHercules     (her'c[)u]l[=e]z)\nHermes       (her'm[=e]z)\n\nIasion       ([=i][)a]'s[)i]on)\nIcarius      ([=i]k[)a]'r[)i]us)\nIdomeneus    ([=i]d[=o]m'[)e]ny[=u]s)\nIno          ([=i]'n[)o])\nIphimedeia   (if[)i]m[)e]d[=i]'[)a])\nIphitus      (if'[)i]tus)\nIphthime     (ifth[=i]'m[=e])\nIrus         ([=i]'rus)\nIthaca       ([)i]th'[)a]c[)a])\n\nLaced\u00e6mon    (l[)a]s[)e]d[=e]'mon)\nLaertes      (l[=a][)e]r't[=e]z)\nL\u00e6strygonia  (l[=e]str[)i]g[)o]'n[)i][)a])\nLeda         (l[=e]'d[)a])\nLeiodes      (l[=i][=o]'d[=e]z)\nLesbos       (l[)e]z'bos)\nLeto         (l[=e]'t[=o])\n\nMalea        (m[)a]l'[)e][)a])\nMedon        (med'on)\nMelampus     (m[)e]lam'pus)\nMelanthius   (m[)e]lan'th[)i]us)\nMelantho     (m[)e]lan'th[=o])\nMenelaus     (m[)e]n[)e]l[=a]'us)\nMentes       (men'tez)\nMentor       (men't[=o]r)\nMessene      (mess[=e]'n[=e])\nMinos        (m[=i]'nos)\nMycen\u00e6       (m[=i]s[=e]'n[=e])\n\nNausicaa     (naus[)i]k'[)a]-[)a])\nNeleus       (n[=e]'ly[=u]s)\nNeoptolemus  (neopt[)o]l'[)e]mus)\nNeritus      (n[=e]'r[)i]tus)\nNestor       (n[)e]s't[=o]r)\n\nOceanus      (os[=e]'anus)\nOdysseus     (odis'y[=u]s)\nOrestes      ([)o]r[)e]s't[=e]z)\nOrion        ([=o]r[=i]'on)\nOrmenius     (orm[)e]n'[)i]us)\nOrsilochus   (ors[)i]l'[)o]kus)\nOrtygia      (ort[)i]'g[)i][)a])\nOtus         ([)o]'tus)\n\nPatroclus    (p[)a]tr[)o]'clus)\nPeir\u00e6us      (p[=i]r[=e]'us)\nPeleus       (p[=e]'ly[=u]s)\nPelides      (p[)e]l[=i]'d[=e]z)\nPelion       (p[=e]'l[)i]on)\nPenelope     (p[=e]n[)e]l'[)o]p[=e])\nPersephone   (pers[)e]f'[)o]n[=e])\nPharos       (f[=a]'ros)\nPh\u00e6acia      (f[=e][=a]'si[)a])\nPhemius      (f[=e]'m[)i]us)\nPher\u00e6        (f[=e]'r[=e])\nPhiloctetes  (f[)i]lokt[=e]'t[=e]z)\nPhiloetius   (f[)i]l[=e]'t[)i]us)\nPisistratus  (p[=i]sis'tr[)a]tus)\nPleiades     (pl[=i]'ad[=e]z)\nPolycaste    (p[)o]l[)i]cas't[=e])\nPolydamna    (p[)o]l[)i]dam'na)\nPolypemon    (p[)o]l[)i]p[=e]'mon)\nPolyphemus   (p[)o]l[)i]f[=e]'mus)\nPoseidon     (p[)o]s[=i]'don)\nProteus      (pr[=o]'ty[=u]s)\nPylos        (p[=i]'los)\n\nSame         (s[=a]'m[=e])\nScylla       (sil'l[)a])\nScyros       (sk[=i]'ros)\nSirens       (s[=i]'rens)\nSisyphus     (s[)i]'s[)i]fus)\nSunium       (sy[=u]'n[)i]um)\n\nTantalus     (tan't[)a]lus)\nTeiresias    (t[=i]r[)e]'s[)i]as)\nTelamon      (t[)e]l'[)a]mon)\nTelemachus   (t[=e]l[=e]'m[)a]kus)\nTenedos      (t[)e]n'[)e]dos)\nTheoclymenus (th[)e][)o]cly'm[)e]nus)\nThesprotia   (th[)e]spr[=o]'t[=i][)a])\nThon         (th[=o]n)\nTityos       (t[)i]t'[)i]os)\nTyndareus    (tin'd[)a]ry[=u]s)\n\nZacynthus    (z[)a]kin'thus)\nZeus         (zy[=u]s)","title":"Stories from the Odyssey","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":68002}